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A HEART-OFFERING, 




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HEART-OFFERING 



TO 



THE MEMORY 



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BOSTON: 

PRESS OF GEO. C. RAND, 

1853. 




PREFACE. 



This little book is a Heart-Offering to the memory of the 
Wife of my Youth. 

It is not intended for the public eye. It is not published. 
Criticism has np right to censure, for it asks not for its 
praise. 

It is primarily intended for two to whom she was an 
angel in life, and who fondly hope she is their guardian 
angel still. 

It is for two, who wish that memory may have always 
before its eye some visible and enduring memorial of the 
goodness and loveliness of her life, the thrilling incidents 
connected with her last sickness, and her triumphant death. 

But it is also for those who were more or less connected 
with her and myself, by the ties of consanguinity, aflFection, 
and friendship, who loved her when living, and lament her 
now that she is no more. 

Her features so truthfully portrayed by the engraver, 
and her prominent moral characteristics which I have 
endeavored to portray, will serve, I hope, to keep her in 
greener remembrance. 



PREFACE. 



Some will, perliaps, remember the little rosy-cheeked 
Helen, that we loved so well and lost so early. They will 
read the lines that refer to her, and perhaps be reminded of 
incidens and scenes which they would be willing not to 
forget. 

To the parents and friends of the little ones in memory of 
whom most of the remaining pieces were written, I hope 
this little book will not be wholly destitute of interest. 

I might have inserted many beautiful tributes to the 
memory of departed ones, of far greater merit than mine, 
written by others, but then it would not have been my 
oflFering. 

So much by way of explanation. 

I will only add my earnest hope, that those of my rela- 
tives and friends to whom I may send this little volume, 
will find in it something that will interest, and better than 
this, something that will serve to keep fresh in their memo- 
ries, recollections of one whom they would wish not to 
forget; something, too, that would remind them of that 
little promising bud of mine, which has been so long blos- 
soming in Paradise; and something, in fine, to bring to their 
minds the image of the dear motherless girl who is still 
clinging to my bosom, and perhaps, of one who has little 
claim upon their regard, except that he is able, with truth, 
to subscribe himself their 

Friend and Servant, 

CHARLES THURBER. 



CONTENTS. 



PART FIRST. 

PAGE 

Wife of my Youth, 13 

Our Grounds, 28 

Her Virtues, 38 

Our Pleasant Grounds, _ - - - - 43 

The Disease, 47 

The Smile, 57 

The Meeting, ------ 62 

The Employment, - - - - - -71 

The Altar, '79 

The Picture, 85 

No Farewell for the Bird, - - - - 89 

Safe Home, 93 

The Book, 97 

Marion, 101 

Myself, -------- 105 

The Prayer, - 108 



CONTENTS. 



PART SECOND. 



Helen in Heaven, - - - - - -117 

Helen in Heaven to her Parents, - - - 126 

What is thy Employment, - - - - -132 

To my Breast Pin, - - - - - - 147 

Helen's First Birthday in Heaven, - - - 155 

My Lost One, 159 

The Sick Child, 163 

Passing her Grave, - - - - - 165 

Lay me not Alone, - - - - - -169 

The Early Dead, 172 



PART THIRD. 

Helen Maria Lazell, -179 

Helen Maria Lazell, and Charles Thurber Lazell, 182 
Charles Augustus Field, - - - - -191 

Edward Pliny Holbrook, - - - - 195 

Samuel Knox, - - - - - - -198 

On the death of the only child of a Friend, - 205 

CaroUne Spear, 211 

The Little Girl, 220 

Gone to School, __._-- 225 

The Consecrated Ground, - - - - 229 

Is this our Home, _._._- 235 
Thoughts, - - - * - - - - 237 

Benefit of Affliction, ------ 244 

Dying Mother to her Child, - - - - 246 

To a Star, -------- 255 



PAllT FIRST. 



DEDICATIOi\ OF PART FIRST. 



With tlie deepest respect and veneration for her 
character, I dedicate the first part of this little volume 
to the memory of my deceased wife, — 

LUCINDA ALLEN THURBER, 

an unwavering and warm-hearted friend ; a faithful and 
loving wife ; a discreet and prudent mother, and an 
humble and conscientious Chi-istian. 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH 



Wife of my youth ! what magic in each 
AYord ! 
When first it trembled on my timid tongue, 
What depths of feeling in my breast were 
stirred, 
What heio'hts of thousrht were wide, wide 
open flung ! 
The present seemed all sunshine to my view; 
The glorious future, one triumphant march; 
Hope a green carpet o'er my pathway threw, 
And hung up rainbows like a beauteous 
arch: 



14 WIFE OP MY YOUTH. 

Life seemed a scene, to whicli were really 

given 
The joys of earth, and bliss, almost, of 

Heaven. 

But as we walked where merry sunshine 
beamed, 
A cloud oft gathered in our pleasant 
march ; 
Our path proved not as velvet as it seemed ; 
And storms broke through the beauteous 
rainbow arch ; 
And though we roved within our Eden 
bowers, 
And plucked the gems, and drank the 
fragrance there. 
Thorns often lurked beneath the sweetest 
flowers. 
And frosts cut down the fragrant, bright 
and fair ; 



WIFE OP MY YOUTH. 15 

And then our Eden scarcely seemed the 

spot 
That distance painted to my youthful 

thought. 

But sweet to think, that not a single thorn 
Hid 'neath a rose, our youthful loves had 
set; 
Not one faint sigh was of our union 
born, 
Not one tear dropped that we had ever 
met; 
The thorns were those our common nature 
bears. 
The sighs and tears, tlie heir-looms of our 
race; 
Our disappointments, pains, and toils, and 
cares, 
Such as spring ever in lifers hurried 
chase ; 



16 WIPE OF MY YOUTH. 

And but for these, to harass and annoy, 

Our social bliss had been one thrill of 

joy. 

But 't was an Eden, that " sweet home " of 
ours. 
Although life's evils met us. day by 
day ; 
If one were sad, the other cheered the 
bowers ; 
Oi- wept — the other kissed the tears 
away ; 

And if both sorrowed, sorrow lost its 
frown, 
In mutual aid, or asking aid above. 
And when a frost cut pleasure's flowerets 
down, 
Flowers sprang up sweetly from our 
mutual love: — 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 17 

AVhen sick, an angel hovered round my bed, 
And a fond lover soothed her aching 
head. 

When our sweet Helen, on her angel 
wings, 
Flew to the land of never fading 
charms. 
And our tears started from their inner 
springs, 
'T was sweet to weep them in each other's 
arms. 
And then we thanked, 0, how we thanked 
kind Heaven, 
That we both lived to share that home oi 
ours, 
And that young Marion from our hearts 
unriven, 
Still roved beside us through our pleasant 
bowers ! 



18 WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 

And then we felt earth's joys were not all 

o'er, 
And Heaven had really one attraction 

more. 



And when I saw her in life's noise and 
din, 
Calm, humble, hopefl, cheerfunl, and serene, 
I felt that she had got a gem within, 

That I wore not, to cheer life's checkered 
scene : 
Then how devoutly she would kneel and 
pray 
That I might have a gem that would not 
fade, — 
And with what a'apture she l)eheld the 
day, 
When I, too, knelt mo at her side and 
prayed ! 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 19 

Then we thought death would sunder us in 

vain ; 
For, though we parted, we should meet 

again. 

When we were poor and struggled night 
and day 
To mount the hill where competence is 
found, 
'T was she that helped and cheered me on 
my way, 
And her smiles made it almost fairy 
ground. 
And when we got a little up the hill. 

Where fortune's favors grew a little kind. 
She was the same kind gentle spirit still, 
That ne'er forgot her poorer friends 
behind ; 
And then we felt, that, whether rich or not, 
We could be happy, whatsoe'er our lot. 



20 WIFE OF MY YOUTH, 

I call to mind the many years of pain, 

When sickness stung her to the very 
quick, — 
And I oft chid that she would not com- 
plain 
Or let me know when she was really 
sick. 
Sometimes I wish those years again would 
come, 
With all their scenes of pleasure and of 
grief. 
That I might show her how I' d cheer her 
home, 
And how much more I'd do for her 
relief ; 
For, though I tried to smooth her pathway 

o'er, 
I feel, I know. T might have soothed her 
more. 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH 21 

When vexed or crossed, some hasty word I 

said, 
Or wronged, resolved to play a desperate 

part, 
I drank in prudence from her cooler 

head, 
And kindled kindness from her warmer 

heart ; 
Keen to perceive th' approach of ill or 

wrong — 
Calm, when the furnace kindled to a 

flame, 
She helped me shun them ere they came 

along. 
Or bear them better when the trial 

came ; 
And then I felt that I'd a faithful 

guide, 
While that dear one was walking at my 

side. 



22 WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 

Wife of my youth ! there lingers yet a 

spell 
In those dear words, that seem almost 

divine, — 
Yet, in those sounds I hear the solemn 

knell 
Of one I loved, but now no longer 

mine. 
And though in home, touched by the hand 

of grief, 
*' Lost — lost," seems written upon every 

part ; — 
Her smiles still linger upon memory's 

leaf, 
Her image lives in this devoted 

heart ; — 
And though Time's hand this harrowed heart 

may soothe, 
It can't wipe out the partner of my 

youth. 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 23 

There are some things which bless us when 

possessed, 
Yet have no sweetness when they come to 

part, 
While some, though lost, still soothe the 

aching breast. 
With their sweet fragrance lingering in the 

heart ; 
And she, blest one, now throned in bliss 

above, 
Far, far away from earth's ungenial 

bowers, 
11 er mildness, patience, prudence, goodness, 

love. 
All make us better that they once were 

ours ; 
We '11 keep them shrined upon our bosom's 

throne, 
And make her virtues and her hopes our 

own. 



24 WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 

'T is said good spirits from their home 

above 
Watch o'er their dear ones both by night 

and day, 
Suggest good thoughts in those they used 

to love, 
And sweetly chide them when they go 

astray. 
0, blissful thou<2:ht ! mv daus-hter and mv 

wife, 
Both now made perfect, may our steps 

attend, 
Aid us while strujrirlincc throuo-h this fitful 

life, 
And guide us heavenward when that life 

shall end. 
Alas ! good thoughts ! we '11 deem them 

precious things. 
Brought, by our guardians, from the King 

of kings. 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 25 

But thou art gone, gone to a genial 

clime. 
And left me weeping at the sundered 

tie : 
And though I know grief will be soothed by 

time, 
And tears, though gushing from the heart, 

be dry, 
And though new scenes, new joys, new 

friends may spring. 
And I may many a happy moment 

see, 
Joy shall not one enchanting garland 

bring, 
But the best flower shall speak, dear one, 

of thee ! 
The fairest, loveliest, I will call it 

thine, 
Whatever the roses, fortune's hand may. 

twine. 



26 WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 

Farewell, sweet spirit, fare thee well awhile ! 

This fitful scene is passing swiftly by, — 
Then may I meet thee with that very smile, 
That thou didst wear when called away 
to die. 
The little one that thou hast left with me, 

Alas, alas ! I'll try to train her well, — 
I '11 often sit and talk with her of thee. 

And of thy yirtues and thy goodness tell : 
And her young heart expanding into 

love, 
Will strive to meet thee in tliy home 
above. 

Thou who only canst assistance give. 
To whom alone we can for succor fly. 
Teach us, kind Father, how like her to 
live. 
Like her to sufler, and like her to 
die ! 



WIFE OF MY YOUTH. 27 

And though the loss may leave an aching- 
void, 
That earth's gay scenes may never, never 
fill, 
Her sweet example we so long enjoyed — 

0, may it aid us and inspire us still, 
Till we shall find, on yonder radiant plain, 
The loss we suffer is our greatest gain. 



OUR GROUNDS. 



" How blessings brighten as they fly/' 

exclaimed a truthful bard ! 
And trivial things, when really lost, seem 

worthy our regard ; 
And love and friendship wholly fail to show 

their real worth, 
Until they rise on radiant wings, and leave 

the realms of earth. 
I knew her virtues, felt their charms, and 

owned their magic sway , 
But felt not what their value was, so keenly 

as to-day ; 



OUR GROUNDS. 29 

I felt my life a blissful scene, with soitow 

scarce astir, 
But did not know how much that bliss 

depended upon her. 



Alas ! alas ! the spell is broke, the vision 
passed away, 
And I must now, among the wrecks, pursue 
my onAvard way. 



'T is wondrous how, at every step, I some 

memorial see 
Of what she thought, of what she said, of 

what she did for me ; — 
And home is full, is brimming full, of objects 

everywhere, 
That speak about my sainted one, and almost 

bring her there. 



30 OUR GROUNDS. 

I walk the groimds she used to walk, the 

bowers she used to thread, 
And tread the green-edged walks along, that 

she was wont to tread, — 
And every little verdant bush that waves 

among the bowers, 
Reminds me of her velvet hand that used to 

pluck the flowers. 

I seem to see her pleasant face as oft as I 

behold 
That China rose she used to think appeared 

so much like gold — 
Or see the lofty trellises at which she used 

to stop, 
And wonder if that Prairie Queen would 

ever reach the top. 
Or see the Belle of Baltimore she watched 

within the bower, 

To see the buds when only half expanded to 
a flower, — 



OUR GROUNDS. 31 

Or Flowering Thorn, she used to think so 

beautiful and bland, 
As neatly shaped as any egg, by Jimmy's 

skilful hand, — 
Or verdant Arbor Yitae hedge that, as 

she looked around. 
She thought the prettiest thing we had in all 

the pleasant ground. 



And when I walk among the trees, and cast 

my eye on each, 
I recollect her favorite pear, and favorite 

plum and peach ; — 
And most of all the willow trees that weep 

before the door, 
That since she died appear to weep more 

sadly than before. 



32 OUR GROUNDS. 

When Jenny comes with harness on, and 

brings along the chaise, 
The shadows come across my heart from 

scenes of other days, — 
When she and I, and Marion, a family 

complete. 
Would take our places side by side, and 

scoot along the street. 
And up the hill, and through the woods, and' 

down the vallevs roam, 
Till quite refreshed with Nature's breath 

we came delighted home ; 
And when gay Jerry comes along at merry 

Jenny's side, 
Methinks my dear one still is sick, and going 

out to ride. . 

When, on the peaceful Sabbath morn, I seek 

the house of prayer, 

I almost think my sainted one is sitting by 
me there ; 



OUR GROUNDS. 33 

I see the book slie used to read, the seat she 
occupied, 

And sometimes start to find that she's not 
sitting at my side ; — 

I see my friends in little groups of loving- 
circles thrown — 

And almost think my wife is there — but find 
myself alone. 



When, at my home, I'm kneeling down 

beside the altar there, 
To thank my God for favors past, or seek his 

aid in prayer, 
I miss the two that used to kneel beside me, 

morn and even, 
For lo ! the one has gone to school, the other 

gone to Heaven. 



34 OUR GROUNDS. 

There's scarce an inch within the round that 

constitutes my home — 
There's scarce a foot of verdant earth within 

my daily roam — 
There 's scarce a scene that greets my eye, a 

sound that greets my ear. 
But makes me for a moment think my sainted 

one is near, — 
Till every inch within my home, and every 

foot around, 
Is all so brimming full of her, I feel it holy 

ground, 
Wliere I should feel 't is double guilt to 

foster any sin, 
By any wicked act without, or wicked 

thoughts within. 

'Tis sweet to think that every blow our 

heavenly Father sends. 
Although surcharged with seeming wrath, 

with sovereign mercy blends, 



OUIl (GROUNDS. 35 

And though it wrings our hearts with grief 

to bear the woe and pain, 
'Tis sweet to think 'tis in our power to 

change the loss to gain ; 
And when we lose the objects here we most 

enjoy and love, 
Convert it into gain below, and endless joy 

above. 



I 've seen the pure and lofty fruits that out 

of sorrow start, 
I 've weighed them often in my mind, and felt 

them in my heart ; 
I thought I knew how much they blessed, and 

thought I fathomed how, — 
But never thought, or saw, or felt, so very 

keen as now. 



36 OUR GROUNDS. 

While from this melting scene of grief, a 

backward look I cast, 
And view the winding way I 've trod along 

the checkered past, 
I think of blessings never used, or never used 

aright, 
Which, now improved, would yield a feast of 

profit and delight ; — 
Of virtues by my lost one shown, and sweet 

examples given. 
Which, to be hallowed, needed this — that 

she should be in Heaven ! 
Kind Father, may I ne'er forget till I ^n 

beside her laid, 
The sweet example that she gave, the virtues 

she displayed ! 
That I, like him who talked with God, and 

grew intensely bright. 
May grow more pure, and more like her, by 

dwelling on the sight. 



OUR (JROUNDS. 37 

I sometimes feel that I am blest beyond my 

friends around, 
For wheresoe'er I stay or go, 'tis really 

hallowed ground ; 
And every pebble 'neath my feet, and star 

above my head, 
And every tree and every flower appear as 

if they said, 
We speak for lier, your loved one, who 

beneath yon marble lies. 
Who bids us give her love to you, and ask 

you to be wise. 



yes ! the voice, the very voice — exactly 
what she'd say, — 
Almighty God ! 0, give me grace the precept 
to obey ! 



HER VIRTUES. 



T IS sweet, when those we love depart, 

And crumble like a mangled flower, 
Their virtues cluster round the heart, 

And sway it with a double power ; 
We've tenderer feelings when bereft 

Of friends that moulder in the dust. 
And every sweet memorial left 

Is treasured as a hallowed trust. 

The daisy is a sacred thing. 

When growing o'er the sleeper's bed, — 
A lock of hair, or simple ring. 

Are hallowed when the wearer 's dead : 



HER VIRTUES. 39 

A holy influence seems to start 
The chambers of the soul within, 

And throw a cordon round the heart, 
To keep it from exterior sin. 



I felt the virtue's that were thine, 

I knew the stains thy frailties wrought, — 
But now those virtues seem divine, 

And every stain is quite forgot. 
The vision lives before my eyes. 

More sweet than Fancy's pen can paint, — 
Thy virtues in their freshness rise. 

And make thee seem a spotless saint. 



I see thy patience sweetly shown 
Amidst the pains and ills of life, 

That would not let thy woes be known, 
For fear of troubling me, my wife ! 



40 HER VIRTUES. 

And then it seems to whisper me, 
In tones as sweet as angels know, 

To bear my ills, whatever they be, 
Nor swell with mine another's woe. 



Thy conscience — 't was as pure as light, 

That mildly guided thee along, 
That made thee wish to do the right, 

And never, never do the wrong ; 
And then it seems to cheer and warn, 

And beckon me to duty's bowers, 
Where, though we find full many a thorn, 

We find a thousand, thousand flowers. 



I hear thy careful words again 

Drop mildly from thy prudent tongue, 

That never gave the present pain, 
And yet the absent never stung ; 



HER VIRTUES. 41 

And then I think how blest 'twould be, 
To curb my tongue and rule my mind, 

That when I die, I may, like thee, 
Leave not a wounded heart behind. 



Thy sober judgment, solid sense. 

And calmness in the midst of doubt. 
Kept me from myriad sad events, 

Or, like good angels, helped me out : 
And yet they linger hour by hour, 

And walk like Mentors at my side, 
And beg me, with a tenfold power, 

To act aright, whatever betide. 



Thy gentle spirit, mild and chaste, 
With every lovely grace imbued, 

That never let thee trample taste, 
And scarcely ever e'en be rude ; 



42 



HER VIRTUES. 



'T is hovering, like a heavenly guest, 
Above my head, by day and night, 

And somehow gets within my breast, 
When going wrong, to bring me right. 

Religion — 0, my sainted wife, 

'T was vital in thy lofty faith ! 
It guided thee through weary life. 

And cheered thee with its smiles at death, 
And now. Religion, help me turn. 

With purer faith, to things on high, 
And make it now my chief concern. 

Like her to live, like her to die. 



OUR PLEASANT GROUNDS. 



Our pleasant grounds, our sweet parterre, 

Where we so often walked, 
And plucked the fruits and flowerets there, 

And gaily laughed and talked — 
They seem — although they 're very fair — 

As if my eye were mocked. 

I recollect the very pink 

She thought the prettiest drest, 

Though I contended, (with a wink,) 

'T was poorer than the rest, — 

< 

Though now I really, really think 
That 'tis the verv best. 



44 OUR PLEASANT GROUNDS. 

Those little squares, whose velvet sheen, 

Looks like a carpet so. 
Which she declared looked better green, 

And I contended, no ; 
I' ve changed my mind, and now I mean 

To let the carpet grow. 

The fir in yonder crowded roAV, 
She thought 'twas best to move, 

But I, alas ! I let it grow, 
To make a thicker grove ; 

But now, next spring, the fir must go. 
As quick as it can move. 

Yon weeping cherry, graceful thing. 

Her pleasure, still attests 

Where birds came out on whirring wing. 

To live and love, sweet guests ! 
* 

Well, I will woo them every spring, 
To come and build their nests. 



OUR PLEASANT GROUNDS. 45 

I know the ver}^ peach and pear ' 

She always used to pet, 
And though I thought them very fair, 

They now seem fairer yet ; 
And I shall take the ^'reatest care 

That all their wants are met. 

The Monthly Rose beside the gate, 
That stands the frost and snow — 

I know how high she used to rate 
Its very fragrant blov^^ ; 

And so we '11 watch it long and late, 
That it may thrive and grow. 

The plants we kept so warm and gay, 

From Boreas' deadly sting. 
She thought had scarce enough to pay 

The costly wintering ; 
And so, we 've laid them all away, 

And they shall sleep till spring. 



4() OUR PLEASANT (J HOUNDS. 

The circle at our southern door, 

She used to think so sweet, 
James keeps it shaven as before, 

Ana keeps the road as neat ; 
He rakes it, smooths it, sweeps it o'er, 

Clear out into the street* 

The paths and alleys, lined with box, 

And gravelled o'er so fair, 
Where we so oft, in pleasant talks, 

Went out to solace care ; 
We '11 trim, and smooth, and weed the walks, 

And keep them in repair. 

Then if her gentle spirit come 

Beyond where angels be, 
Perhaps she' 11 visit " home, sweet home," 

Its pleasant things to see, 
And she'll perhaps go out to roam 

With Marion and me. 



THE DISEASE. 



That dread disease, paralysis, ! who 
can tell the pangs 

That thrill the chambers of the soul in which 
it thrusts its fangs ! 

It chills the frame, unstrings the nerves, with 
its benumbing thrill, — 

It quenches speech, beclouds the mind, sub- 
dues the giant will ; 

The man becomes a boy again, the woman 
grows a girl. 

And life itself, with all its charms, a dim and 
giddy whirl ; 



48 THE DISEASE. 

The faithful memory is eclipsed, or wholly 

disappears, 
And adult firmness melts away to weakness 

and to tears. 



That weary year of sadness, love, as sad as 

sad can be, 
'T was sorrow to my yearning heart, but 

agony to thee, 
It seemed as if the pen of woe had rudely 

dared to trace 
Its very name, its awful form, upon thy 

pleasant face ; 
It seemed as if the hand of grief its agony 

had piled, 
Until the face appeared as if it never, never 

smiled ; 



THE DISEASE. 49 

And when thou didst essay to wear a pleasant 

cheerful look, 
'Twas doubly painful to behold the effort 

that it took ; 
The smile was not the radiant one thy 

features used to wear, 
It seemed as 't were the bow of hope, 

beclouded by despair ; 
It seemed as if thy boundless love for Marion 

and me, 
Looked out upon thy face and saw — how 

sad a sight to see ! — 
And tried to trace a magic smile upon the 

saddened leaf, 
But left the tracery almost lost among the 

lines of grief. 



50 THE DISEASE. 

'T was sad to see that dread disease 

assuming the control 
Of such a calm and solid mind, and such a 

patient soul ; 
And if that lofty faith of thine liad been less 

bright and fair, 
Methinks thy patience, so divine, had ended 

in despair. 



Were one in health to toil as hard for 

right as thou didst try 
To keep the gushing tear within, or check the 

rising sigh — 
If we should try, when sorrows come, to bear 

them all alone, 
And never mar another's bliss with sorrows 

of our own, 



THE DISEASE. 51 

We should not hear, as now we hear, the 

sombre, sad complaint. 
That, midst the countless tribes of earth, 

there can't be found a saint. 



We did not feel as much as now, how keen 

thy sufferings were, 
Nor yet how many pangs of woe thou daily 

hadst to bear : 
For in those sad and weary scenes, we had 

not time to think 
How bitter was the cup of woe that thou 

didst have to drink ; 
We could not feel, with all our souls, how 

bitter was the smart, 
For in the depths of sympathy we had to 

bear a part. 



52 THE DISEASE. 

But now from this calm scene we look with 

retrospective glass, 
And view, through every scene of woe, the 

tragedy — alas ! 
'T is strange I felt no more the pangs thy 

gentle bosom felt ! 
'Tis strange my bosom did not bleed, and 

into anguish melt ! 
'T is strange I left thy weary bed a moment, 

night or day. 
And more consoling talk with thee, and more 

devoutly pray ! 



But hope, ah, me ! deceitful hope stood 
always by to tell. 
The dread disease would yet relent, and thou 
again be well ; 



THE DISEASE. 53 

And home, with all its fruits and flowers, its 
pleasant walks and aisles, 

Would yet be wreathed delightfully in thy 
bewitching smiles ; 

And this delusive hope, perhaps, I've some- 
times sadly thought, 

Prevented me from aiding thee as fully as I 
ought. 



Forgive me, gentle spirit ! — yes, I know 

that I 'm forgiven, 
Though I 'm a sinner yet on earth, and thou 

a saint in Heaven. 
Thou know'st I would not willingly have left 

an act undone. 
That might have soothed, or might have 

healed, thy sorrows, sainted one, — 



54 THE DISEASE. 

And if thou seest an act I missed that miQ:ht 

have cheered thy lot, 
Thou know'st full well, thou ransomed one, 

thy husband knew it not. 



! it was sad — 't was sad enough to melt 

a heart of stone, 
To see thee suffering helplessly, and hear thy 

gentle moan ; 
To see thee curb, with all thy might, thy 

harrowed feelings so, 
And look upon thy smiling face now clad in 

weeds of woe. 



But ! in what delightful charms that 
closing scene was drest, 
When thy last sun, thy setting sun, was 
sinkins: in the west. 



THE DISEASE. 55 

Disease had spent its utmost strength, and 
made an end of strife, 
And now was crumbling silently the citadel 
of life. 



There lay the one I loved so well, just in 

the arms of death, 
Yet buoyed above upon the wings of clear 

and lofty faith : — 
" I 'm happy, happy, happy, Charles, as blest 

as I can be ; 
I know you'll care for Marion, and both will 

think of me." 



Then suddenly a beam began the sombre 
hues to chase — 
A twilight smile appeared to spread across 
her ghastly face. 



56 THE DISEASE. 

The ugly furrows pain had ploughed, began 

to fade away, 
Until a smile, an angel smile, upon her 

features lay ; 
Each trace of pain had disappeared, and ere 

the spirit left, 
A sunny smile lit up the face to solace the 

bereft, — 
But two faint throbs of that pure heart, so 

sweetly formed to love, 
And lo ! the gentle spirit winged its radiant 

way above. 



And thus the bond that bound our hearts 
so well and long was riven, 
I gained a smile, a beauteous smile, and she, 
a fadeless Heaven ! 



THE SMILE. 



When I think, ransomed one, of tlij 

sufferings while here, 
Through the sad weary months of that last 

dreary year, 
Every power of my soul, into sympathy 

brought, 
Seems to melt into tears at the sorrowful 

thought. 

It is sad, that among all the years that we 
passed. 
In a union so sweet from the first to the 
last, 



58 



THE SMILE. 



Such a load of keen sorrows, and burden of 

woes, 
Should have heaped all its wrath on the one 

at the close. 

But, although my heart bleeds, when I 

think o'er again 
The sad era, so burdened with sorrow and 

pain, 
Yet "t is sweet, the blue sky often gleamed 

on the sight, 
And thy sun set at last in a halo of light. 

When the storm-god all day the blue firma- 
ment shrouds. 
In a mantle of tempest, and darkness, and 

clouds, 
We imagine a lovely to-morrow foretold. 
If the sun sets encompassed in azure and 
gold. 



THE SMILE. 59 

Though thy sky had so long been 

enshrouded in gloom, 
More Cimmerian than that which envelopes 

the tomb, 
Yet I knew by the smile that appeared on 

thy brow, 
There were only to-morrows of bliss for thee 

now. 

0, how oft have I set myself down to beguile 
The lone hours with the thought of that 

angel-like smile ! — 
And imagined whence came it, what lit it, 

who wrought 
Such a beautiful thing at so dreadful a spot? 

Did thy spirit, that always wished others 
so blest. 
Looking out o'er thy face, see the sadness 
impressed. 



60 THE SMILE. 

And, for fear the dread vision might wring 

my poor heart, 
Weave a picture of gladness for me, and 

depart ? 

Did it see our lost Helen bend sweetly 
above 

To convoy thee to mansions of pleasure and 
love ; 

And so rapturous and heavenly the sight of 
that child, 

That the clay dropped its woe, and in sym- 
pathy smiled ? 

Did thine eye see the curtain of Paradise 

ope 
And expose the sweet visions portrayed by 

thy hope. 
And the smile of thy Saviour beam brightly, 

and trace 
The fair type of itself on thy sorrowful face ? 



THE SMILE. 61 

Did an angel, just sent from the regions 

of love, 
Bring a smile that some cherub in Paradise 

wove, 
And to soften our sorrows and solace our 

heart, 
Drop it down on thy face, lovely one, and 

depart ? 



But whatever it was, it has rendered me 

blest. 
And as long as I live 't will be shrined in my 

breast ; 
And if Marion and I ever meet thee above, 
We will sit down and talk it all over, my 

love. 



THE MEETING. 



Dear spirit of my sainted wife, 
Who dost in spotless glory bow, 

Thou wast my sweetest guide through life. 
Do not, do not desert me now. 

But when thou dost go out to roam, 

! come this way, and visit home. 

The scene of woe is vivid yet, 

We passed, when Helen had to die ; 

And when your ransomed spirits met 
In those delightful realms on high, 

1 've tried to see, with fancy's ken. 

What raptures must have thrilled thee tlien ! 



THE MEETING. 63 

I' ve thought, yjerhaps, when spirits first 
Alight among the blest above, 

They search for those dear ones that erst 
They used to know, and used to love ; 

And when at length the rest are known, 

They 're all as lovely as their own. 

I know that in that holy place, 

There 's One far lovelier than the rest, 

And while they're gazing on his face. 
Unbounded rapture fills the breast ; 

But yet 't is sweet, with one to rove 

Who's ransomed with a Saviour's love. 

I 've had a vision oft, of late, — 

'Twas of thy flight to Heaven, my love, 
A countless throng were at the gate, 

And wreaths of welcome for thee wove ; 
And then they twined, I know not how, 
The loveliest wreath around thy brow. 



64 THE MEETING. 

And then thine e3^es, as black as jet, 
I saw them keenly dart around, 

As if some cherub, yet unmet. 

Was somewhere in that holy ground ; 

And then with joy I heard thee say. 

Why, they 're all Helens here to-day ! 

Within my native planet, earth, 
Unlike these spotless scenes above. 

Love is not always won by worth. 
And worth not always found in love ; 

And things seem worthless or divine. 

Just as they 're labelled, mine or thine. 

But in this holy, holy place. 

Love, kindling up in every part. 

Awakes a smile on every face. 

And sends a thrill through every heart ; 

And mine and thine so sweetly twine. 

That everything in Heaven is mine. 



THE MEETING. 65 

I used to think in earth's dim sphere, 

If e'er I winged my way above, 
The sweetest, heartiest welcome here. 

Would be from her I used to love; 
And that dear one, of all the blest, 
Would be the one I'd love the best. 

And true it is, a deeper thrill 

Of rapture, with our converse, blends; 
For we can talk of " sweet home " still, 

Of common joys and common friends; 
And in sweet union, call to mind 
A thousand things we left behind. 

But scarcely less the thrill that darts 
Through every chamber of my soul, 

While I commune with other hearts, 

All through this bright harmonious whole. 

And beams of love, from every breast, 

Warm this o'lad heart and make it blest. 



66 THE MEETING. 

'T is sweet to stand on Heaven's parterre, 

And to dim earth, our eyes to cast; 
To talk of scenes we passed, when there, 

Or hear of those that others passed; 
And sweeter scenes of bliss unfold. 
While listening to the new and old. 

Thus, though my babe and I are blest, 
While talking o'er our old affairs, 

We 're thrilled with joy to hear the rest 
Sit down and sweetly talk of theirs; 

There's rapture in the smallest word, 

That in the halls of Heaven, are heard. 

How self dissolves in showers of love. 

And mingles in a sea of bliss, 
In these delightful worlds above, 

In such a Heaven of joy as this; 
We 're lost in every fond embrace, 
And see a friend's in every face. 



THE MEETING. 67 

From yonder throne of purest white, 

To yonder little cherub's seat, 
It is one scene of pure delight. 

And, one seat blotted, incomplete ; 
Each is a tint that God has given, 
To constitute a perfect Heaven. 

From Him who sits on yonder throne, 
To him who fills the tiniest seat. 

Though millions, yet they 're all but one, 
United in a bond complete; 

And every one is but a gem, 

Set in the Saviour's diadem. 

Our harps — ah ! yes, our harps are hearts, 
That breathe so free and beat so strong, 

That every throb a note imparts. 
And adds new rapture to the song; 

And every sound in Heaven's domain, 

Adds sweetness to the lovely strain. 



68 THE MEETING. 

And when I gaze upon his brow, 

Whose precious blood w^as spilt for me, 

I have no power to fathom now, 

How deep his boundless love must be; 

And centuries endless, e'en will prove 

Too short to fathom so much love. 

! rapturous prospect — what a change ! 
There's nought can now my peace annoy; 

1 shall truth's fields forever range, 
And revel in a sea of joy; 

And ravished in a school like this, 
Gain loftier truths and purer bliss. 

And home, sweet home — I've ne'er forgot 
Its merry hearts, its pleasant cheer; 

And even now the very thought 
Adds pleasure to my rapture here; 

And if those hearts with mine unite, 

Methinks my Heaven would be more bright. 



THa MEETING. 69 

I know the pangs it cost to part, 
I know the hopes that died with me, 

And how my dear ones felt the smart, 

When their best friend had ceased to be; 

But if they knew what pleasures reign. 

They'd never wish me back again. 



'T was thus I heard, or thought I heard, 
My lost one speak in Paradise; 

And I'd no heart to say a word. 
To call the dear one from the skies; 

Far better that the boon be given. 

To meet the spotless saint in Heaven. 



THE EMPLOYMENT. 



Since my beloved went up to Heaven to 

join that spotless throng, 
IVe tried, with fancy's brush, to paint her 

starry way along; 
To think about her radiant home and her 

divine employ. 
Whence gushes out a living spring of 

everlasting joy. 

It cannot be, the song they sing is really 
the whole, 
That constitutes the blissful fare that feeds 
a ransomed soul; 



THE EMPLOYMENT. 71 

Not feeling only, thought and act in sweet 

proportion given, 
Are part and parcel of the bliss that makes 

the Christian's heaven. 



It is not knowledge upon earth that makes 

the wearer blest. 
For learning's lore is often found within a 

wretch's breast; 
And he whose heart is bent to wrong, or wed 

to low desires. 
Will always grow the greater fiend the more 

that he acquires. 



But up in Heaven, where all is pure and 
every heart is right, 
Each ray of truth and beam of thought bring 
beauty and delight; 



72 THE EMPLOYMENT. 

Tlie mind expands at every step, and each 

expansion opes 
The blissful heart for fresh supplies of 

happiness and hopes. 



Methinks the study of that place must be 

the works of God, 
Wliate'er those glorious works may be, 

wherever spread abroad; 
From that first act that sprang to birth and 

laid creation's plan, 
To that august device of love to rescue 

ruined man. 



Methinks, I see my lost one stand in yonder 
world of love, 
And look through space where worlds on 
worlds in awful grandeur move; 



THE EMPLOYMENT. 73 

As thick as floating flakes of snow, they shoot 

about and burn, 
And when their annual mission 's o'er the 

glorious orbs return. 



She sees that though with matchless speed, 

they 're circling round and round, 
There's not a jar or error made in all that 

azure ground; 
And from the grandeur that she sees, the 

melody she hears, 
She understands what poets call the music of 

the spheres. 



She sees each phase of life that fills creation 
to the brim, 
From tiniest animalculas to loftiest Cher- 
ubim; 



74 THE EMPLOYMENT. 

And that perfection needs them all, the fragile 

and the strong, 
As loudest tones and sweetest notes are 

needed in a song. 



She sees how every grade of act affects our 

weal or woe, 
How all things get so right above that seemed 

so wrong below; 
And how, though good men oft have ills, the 

vicious do not share, 
The scales of justice always get exactly 

balanced there. 



She sees why lovely children die and vicious 
ones survive, 
"Why good men oft are called away and leave 
the bad alive: 



i- 



THE EMPLOYMENT. 75 



And now it looks so charmingly she views it 

o'er and o'er, 
And wonders why she did not see its harmony 

before. 



She sees why useful fathers die, and tender, 

prudent wives. 
While childless sots and withered hags drag 

out their worthless lives; 
And everything that seemed so strange and 

everything so wrong. 
Now seems harmonious as the notes in joy's 

enchanting song. 



She talks with patriarchs that lived when 
time was fresh and young, — 
She listens to the notes that drop from rapt 
Isaiah's tongue; 



"iQ THE EMPLOYMENT. 

She walks with John who sweetly leaned 

upon his Master's breast, 
And Mary who, the infant God, pressed fondly • 

to her breast. 



She mingles with the great and good of 

every age and clime, 
And reads their histories, page by page, all 

through the book of time; 
And sees how seeming good and ill, and 

seeming wrong and right. 
Are only lights and shades that mix and issue 

in delight. 



And such methinks the lessons taught in 
that delightful sphere. 
They study things occurring there and things 
occurring here; 



THE EMPLOYMENT. 77 

And each succeeding lesson gives a zest unfelt 

before, 
And each succeeding view of truth discloses 

more and more. 



As when beneath St. Peter's dome the 

traveller stands to gaze, 
He's lost in wonder at the sight and 

breathless with amaze; 
And though he come a thousand times and 

look it o'er and o'er, 
He sees at every time he comes a thousand 

wonders more. 



! no, I would not call her back from such 
divine employ, 
Although 'twould deck with loveliest flowers 
the garden of my joy; 



78 THE EMPLOYMENT. 

I would not call her back from where there's 

bliss in every breath, 
To this poor scene, to this sad spot of sorrow, 

sin and death. 



THE ALTAR. 



Dear Spirit of my sainted wife, oft as I 

think of thee, 
A thousand pleasant memories start as sweet 

as sweet can be; 
I recollect the very day when we together 

took 
The little altar thou hadst reared from out 

its secret nook ; 
And put it in our parlor, love, our little 

parlor there. 
Where we a happy trio knelt at morn and 

evening prayer. 



80 THE ALTAR. 

That was to thee a triumph day, a glorious 

one to me, 
And Marion looked with wonder on the 

pleasant sight to see; 
For he Avhose lips had never oped beside that 

altar there, 
Now read from Wisdom's sacred book and 

humbly led in prayer. 



! never had so sweet a scene been 

witnessed there before, 
For thou hadst always knelt alone, but knelt 

alone no more; 
And thou hadst taught our infant one her 

little prayer to say, 
Before the fairy girl alas ! had heard her 

father pray; 



THE ALTAR. 81 

And then while kneeling side by side, united 

heart to heart, 
We found that Heaven and earth were not so 

very far apart; 
For often, often while we prayed the answer 

from above. 
Dropped down like dew and filled our hearts 

with hope, and joy, and love ; 
And from that altar where we knelt, we did 

not feel, we knew. 
To where our ransomed Helen dwelt ^t was 

but a step or two ; 
And oft we thought so sweet it was to bend 

in humble prayer. 
That Helen's gentle spirit must be hovering 

near us there ; 
Perhaps to bear the prayer aloft and then the 

mission crown. 
By bringing from our heavenly Friend, the 

promised blessing down ; 



i 

82 THE ALTAR. 

But whether so, or whether not, it was a 

thought to cheer, 
That our beloved angel girl was sweetly 

lingering near. 



And time went on and years elapsed, and 

still that altar stayed, 
And morn and evening, day by day, we 

humbly knelt and prayed ; 
And when at home, or when abroad, upon the 

sea or land. 
We never once forgot to have that altar close 

at hand; 
And though our hearts were often cold in icy 

fetters bound. 
We always found that altar was the w^armest 

spot around ; 



THE ALTAR. 83 

And when we wished to gain relief from 

sorrow and from care, 
We always felt exceeding sure that we should 

find it there. 



And still that altar stands, my love, that 

same delightful one, 
And there I kneel from day to day, but ah ! I 

kneel alone ; 
The little heart that throbbed with ours is 

throbbing far away, 
And she who knelt beside us here, like me 

alone must pray ; 
And thou who didst the altar rear and 

consecrate the spot. 
Hast gained the Heaven, the very Heaven, thy 

gentle spirit sought. 



84 THE ALTAR. 

And still I'll let the altar stand and it shall 

ever be, 
A sweet memorial of thy love for Marion 

and me ; 
And there I'll daily try to learn as thou didst 

learn the art, 
Of living less for earth alone, and watching 

more my heart ; 
And if we ever meet again in yonder happy 

sphere. 
We '11 ne'er forget the altar, love, which thou 

didst kindly rear ; 
And Helen, Marion, you and I, and many a 

ransomed one, 
Will bathe in boundless seas of bliss and 

never bathe alone. 



THE PICTURE. 



'T IS sweet to think when friends depart, 
And rudely sunder heart from heart, 
The mimic skill of plastic art, 

With magic reign. 
Can bid them from rude chaos start, 

And live again. 

'T is strange how quick affection e'en, 
Though e'er so deep, though e'er so keen. 
Forgets her power to paint the scene, 

To memory's eye ; 
And bring back feature, form, and mien. 

Of those that die. 



86 THE PICTURE. 

We Ve skill to paint before our gaze, 
Their pleasant acts and winning ways, 
The cheerful hours and happy days. 

They passed while here ; 
But ah ! the features, form and face, 

They disappear. 

T is sad these forms of heavenly mould, 
The angel-warmed, the hero-souled, 
Must be within their cerements rolled, 

And change to dust ; 
But sweet when we their image hold 

In sacred trust. 

When those we love and cherish fall. 
How oft we think we'd give our all. 
Could we their pleasant looks recall, 

To cheer the scene ; 
But ah ! the solemn shroud and pall, 

They stand between. 



THE PICTURE. 87 

And ! beneath the hand of Art, 
The very features seem to start, 
And say, " although we had to part, 

At Heaven's behest. 
Our souls are graven on your heart, 

And here's the rest." 

! when I look her picture o'er, 
Who once was mine, but mine no more, 
They seem the very looks she wore, 

When I was blest ; 
And I can clasp her as before. 
Close to my breast. 

The placid look, the modest air. 
Of chastened joy and hopeful care, 
Imprinted on her features there. 

They 're true to life ; 
They 're just the ones she used to wear, 

Mv Christian wife. 



88 THE PICTURE. 

Those beaming eyes of blackest jet, 
Whose magic I can ne'er forget, 
That looked a welcome when we met, 

At home once more ; 
They seem to beam as brightly yet, 

As e'er before. 

! that those eyes, so bright that shine, 
Would look directly into mine, 
They'd kindle with a beam divine, 

This throbbing breast ; 
For then, though now 't is very fine, 

'T would please me best. 

That picture, yes, it gives me yet. 
The lost one whom I'd ne'er forget, 
I'll keep it till my sun shall set. 

In closing even ; 
And we to part no more have met 

In yonder Heaven. 



NO FAREWELL FOR THE BIRD/ 



When fond affection comes to die, 
And with a dim and glassy eye, 
Cast its last look on earth and sky, 

No tongue can tell 
How sweet to have its dear ones by, 

And say farewell. 

And friends were watching at thy bed, 
And moving round with silent tread, 



* This is a familiar term which she used to apply to 
Marion. 



90 NO FAREWELL FOR THE BIRD. 

To soothe thy weary aching head, 
And aid impart ; 

And many a sad farewell was said, 
With bleedino- heart. 



But ah ! fond mother, who can tell 
What anguish made thy bosom swell. 
When life's dim curtain rudely fell 

At Death's dread word ; 
And thou couldst say no sweet farewell, 

To thy dear bird. 



What anguish must have wrung thy heart, 
When pierced by Death's relentless dart, 
Beyond the healing power of art, 

With all its lore, 
To think that thou and she apart, 

Could meet no more. 



NO FAREWELL FOR THE RIRD. 91 

Methouglit I almost heard thee say, 
" But one dear bird, and she away ? 
And I no last farewell can say. 

Nor sweet ' good even ? ' 
! Father, cheer the dear one's way. 

Till safe in Heaven." 

! help my husband while alone, 
Direct and guide my orphaned one, 
And help him make the pathway known 

That leads to rest ; 
And shield her till the bird has flown 

Among the blest. 

Ycc^ I dying saint, thy prayer is heard, 
111 try to guide thy orphaned bird, 
I'll .teach her to respect his word. 

That thou did'st love ; 
That the sweet warbler may be heard 

At length above. 



92 NO FAREWELL FOR THE BIRD. 

And when thy merry birdie flies 
To meet her mother in the skies, 
Thou 'It hold her there by stronger ties, 

Than e'er before ; 
There'll be no partings or good byes, 

Forevermore. 

! could our faith with dimless eye, 
Pierce the blue curtain of the sky, 
Methinks 'twould from affection's eye, 

Wipe every tear ; 
For then 'twould be more sweet to die. 

Than linger here. 



SAFE HOME 



Safe home at last, — yes, thou didst call it 
home, 
And talk serenely of that hastening day ; 
When thou shouldst sweetly, to the grave 
yard come. 
And sleep in peace, where our dear Helen 
lay. 

Then sweetly sleep with all thy sorrows o'er, 
No gloomy dreams assail thy silent breast ; 

The wicked there can trouble thee no more, 
And there tlie weary may serenely rest. 



94 SAFE HOME. 

That marble block where Helen's name is 
read, 
Will soon show thine to many a passer 
by ; 
And strangers oft will see that thou art 
dead, 
And hurry onward with a careless 
eye. 



But there'll be two — ah ! there'll be many 
more, 
Who'll linger near thee as they onward 
pass ; 
They'll see thy name and read it o'er and 
o'er, 
Then drop a tear, and then they'll sigh. 
alas ! 



SAFE HOME. 95 

And there we'll come, my Marion and I, 
And see that nothing shall disturb thy bed; 

AVe'il bring pure water when it gets too dry, 
And keep it green above thy quiet head. 

And then we'll think about thy virtues, love, 
And warm our hearts with many a secret 
prayer. 
That since our lost one is at home above, 
We may have grace again to meet thee 
there. 



And James, alas I who knew thy modest 
worth, 
Still loves to think of his departed friend ; 
He'll watch thy bed, smooth down the 
hallowed earth, 
And each green thing with keenest skill 
attend. 



96 SAFE HOME. 

So that thy spirit, if it sometimes roam 

Through the green scenery of thy native 
land, 

And lights a moment in that hallowed home, 
'T will see that James as usual is on hand. 

Rest, then, sweet sleeper, in that chosen spot, 
Where thou didst think 'twould be so sweet 
to lie ; 
Thy grave and Helen's shall not be forgot. 
Till the last one that knew thy worth shall 
die. 

And when we too shall to our mansions go. 
And sweetly nestle near thy pillow, love, 
May we, like thee, leave none but friends 
beloAv, 
And like thee meet with none but friends 
above. 



THE BOOK. 



And now fare thee well, my most excellent 
wife, 
Now happy in mansions above ; 
Though I plunge in the bustle and tumult 
of life, 
I shall never forget thee, my love. 

I have jotted down thoughts on the leaves 
of this book. 
That have gushed up unbidden and free ; 
That Avhene'er upon these humble pages 
I look, 
I may think, ! how sweetly, of thee. 



08 THE BOOK. 

It is not for the public, rude public, 
to see, 
And read o'er the pages unmoved ; 
But 'tis meant as a keepsake for Marion 
and me. 
And those who once knew her and loA'ed. 

Or if haply some stranger should read 
it, who's felt 
The pangs that I know and have known, 
Peradventure, his heart may in sympathy 
melt, 
And mingle his tears with my own. 

There is no one like me on the face of this 
earth. 
And none but the spirits above, 
That has known the full value and weight 
of her worth. 
Or fathomed the depths of her love. 



THE BOOK. 99 

! the tie that once bound us, 't was made 
out of flowers. 
And there was not a thorn in the whole ; 
And they filled with a perfume our beautiful 
bowers, 
That thrilled through the depths of the 
soul. 

And I cannot forget her — I would not forget, 
The blessings she strowed in my way ; 

For I feel that I owe to my lost one a debt, 
I ne'er shall be able to pay. 

So IVe traced on these pages, fresh, fresh 
from my heart, 
A memorial of two, now in Heaven ; 
And although we've been sundered so rudely 
apart, 
Yet the tie, magic tie, is unriven. 



100 THE BOOK. 

And the book shall attend me midst business' 
gay whirl, 

And the troubles and turmoils of life ; 
And as oft as I look, I shall think of my girl, 

And think of my excellent wife. 



MARION. 



! WHAT will become of my dear little 
girl, 
Unblest with a mother's warm love? 
Who will train her through childhood and 
youth's giddy whirl, 
And guide her to mansions above ? 



Can the love of a father, the vacancy fill. 
That the loss of a mother has made ? 

Can he hope by his vigilance, labor and skill, 
To aid as a mother can aid ? 



102 MARION. 

Were my head a pure quarry of wisdom's 
best ore, 

And my heart a deep ocean of love, 
Could 1 toil as a father ne'er labored before, 

To train her for mansions above. 

Yet the least little thrill from a mother's 
warm heart, 

The least little beam from her mind. 
Can an influence wield, can a magic impart. 

More than all I could conjure combined. 

The youngest feel often, their own little 
smarts. 
Their trials, and sorrows, and fears ; 
'T is the mother keeps watch of their minds 
and their hearts. 
And aids them, and guides them, and 
cheers. 



MARION. 103 

But a father, ! how, while in business" 
rough mart, 
Wliere its blows are both taken and given, 
Can he touch the fine cords in his little 
girl's heart, 
And tune them for virtue and Heaven ? 

She has trials a father knows nothing about, 
She has wants that he cannot supply ; 

She has fears that mislead her, and leave her 
in doubt. 
And hopes that enchant her and fly. 

She has frailties, a father could never 
detect. 
And blemishes hid from his eye ; 
She has faults that if known, he could never 
correct, 
xVnd wants, he could never supply. 



lOi MA III ox. 

'T is to thee — to Thee only, kind Fatlicr 
and Friend, 

Who more than a mother canst be, 
My motherless daughter, I humbly commend. 

! guide her to virtue and Thee. 

Above all, may her faith be her mother's 

pure faith, 

May she shun all the follies she shunned : 

May her hope be as bright and triumphant 

at death, 

And her Heaven be as rapturous beyond. 



M YSELF. 



! WHAT 's in the future, kind Fatlicr 
and Friend. 

! what 's in the future for me ? 
Whatsoever it be, may it prove to the end, 

A servant and lover of Thee. 

And if life should befriend me, or life should 
perplex, 
If fortune delight or annoy, 
May I stand in her temples, or sit 'midst 
her wrecks. 
And thankfully bear or enjoy. 



100 MYSELF. 

We speak of the evil and good of our state. 

As if it were all understood ; 
But at length, when we look o'er the records 
of fate, 

We may find it was all " very good/' 



Even now, we ^ee sorrow, the parent 

of joy, 
And pleasure, the mother of pain ; 
And gain often proves but a thorn to annoy, 
And loss often issues in gain. 



! yes, if the heart be at peace witli 

its Lord, 
Whatsoever the ills that befall, 

1 shall gain out of every thing hero, 

a reward. 
And at last, shall gain Heaven out of all. 



MYSELF. 107 

But all! through the future, 'tis vain that 
I look, 

The past and the present are penned ; 
It is these, and these only, I read in the book, 

God only can read to the end. 

! grant me thy friendship, thy friendship, 
kind Sire, 

The Angels are happy with this ; 
It is all that I need — it is all I desire, 

It is all that fills Heaven with bliss. 

! grant me thy friendship, and I am 
supplied. 

Dear Saviour, as long as I live ; 
All earth has no blessing of value beside, 

And Heaven, nothing better to give. 



THE PRAYER 



O ! Thou who canst a balm impart, 
When keenest pangs annoy, 

To heal the wounded, bleeding heart, 
And make it leap for joy; 



A widowed father comes to plead, 
An orphaned cliild to pray ; 

! help them in their hour of need. 
And guide them on their way. 



THE PRAYEK. 109 

They were but three, yet one in heart, 

And home was very blest ; 
But Death, grim tyrant, hurled a dart, 

And rudely slew the best. 

And now the sad survivors weep, 

And wear the weeds of woe ; 
And mourn for her who 's gone to sleep, 

Within her shroud below. 

A thousand gems of joy that blushed. 

Were severed in their bloom ; 
And countless, countless hopes were crushed 

Beside her hallowed tomb. 

And now, ! God, to Thee they go. 
Teach them, thou Source of love, 

That though they 've less to love below, 
They 've more to love above. 



110 THE PRAYER. 

And thougli their gold seems now but dross, 

And pleasures, almost pain, — 
! lielp them so to use the loss, 

That it shall be their gain. 

And when within their cheerful homes 

They pass the pleasant hours, 
Or rove the grounds she loved to roam, 

And pluck the fruits and flowers ; 

May they, ! may they ne'er forget, 

Where all is bright and fair. 
How warm the thanks, how large the debt, 

They owe her taste and care. 

When blessed with generous competence, 

! may they think how much, 
Her careful thrift and sterling sense, 

Combined to make it sucli. 



THE PRAYER. Ill 

And if unscathed in weal or woe, 

They in thy wisdom trust. 
May they reflect how much they owe. 

To her who sleeps in dust. 

And if new friendships yet shall form, 

New ties shall yet be given, 
! may their love be just as warm, 

For her who feasts in Heaven. 

And ! kind Father, guide them so, 
And shield them with thy love, 

That they may live like her below. 
And reign with her above. 



PART SECOND. 



DEDICATION OF PART SECOND. 



With the warmest affection still alive in my breast, 
I dedicate this Part of the book to the memory of 
my first-born daughter, 

HELEN MARIA THURBER, 

who has been for more than sixteen years a resident 
of Paradise, and who exhibited, even in infancy, the 
sweet germs of beauty, loveliness, affection, and piety. 



HELEN TN HEAVEN 



By ties as firm, by love as warm, 

Sweet Helen, thou art bound to me, 
As when I clasped thy little form. 

Or raised thee prattling on my knee — 
Or saw thee cower, in childish play, 

Within a mother's beating breast — 
Or heard thee, " Father, mother," say 

With mantling smiles that made me 
blest, — 
Or felt thy warm affection flow 
In burning kisses on my brow. 



118 HELEN IN HEAVEN. 

Months have elapsed — and can it be, 

This achino' heart has bled so lono: ? 
Affection fondly pictures thee 

Within this bosom fresh and strong ; 
That cheek where health her roses strowed, 

That fawn-like step that tripp'd away, 
That breast, with joy that overflowed 

In childish innocence and play — 
All these are pictured on this heart, 
And never, never can they part. 

! how I loved thy form to watch, 

From school, as thou didst trip along, 
And wait impatiently to catch 

The first sweet accents of thy tongue ; 
! then thy little tale to hear — 

Some letter learn'd, some conquer'd word — 
The glittering medal dangling there — 

Some " verses " learn'd — some storv 
heard ; — 



HELEN IN HEAVEN. 119 

One little kiss to crown the whole — 
All music to a parent's soul. 



Thy mimic school arranged so well, 

Methinks I see thee rule to-day ; 
Thy doll, well taught to read and spell, 

And prettiest hymns and stories say ; 
Thy little chair, which rocked to sleep 

Tir'd doll, with frolic wearied out ; 
Thy yellow box that used to keep 

Thy treasures, day had strown about :- 
I see them yet with many a toy. 
That lit thy little heart with joy. 



And when some playful contest sprung, 
Between us, whose bright treasure thou, 

The verdict warbled on thy tongue, 
" 'T is father's all, and mother's, too ;'/ 



120 HELEN IN HEAVEN. 

None but a parent's heart can feel 
The magic of his children's play, 

When love's bright cords around him steal, 
And closer bind him day by day, 

Until the union thus begun. 

Cements their mutual hearts in one. 



! many a fairy plan I laid, 

With scenes of thrilling pleasure rife. 
And many a lovely picture made. 

Of thy sweet, rosy path of life ; 
A buoyant girl in life's green spring. 

Imagination pictured thee, 
A lovely, blooming, fairy thing. 

The darling of my heart to be ; 
And thy young heart, bright fancy lent 
Full many a fair accomplishment. 



HELEN IN HEAVEN. 121 

And when cold wintry age should come, 

Or sickness make her restless bed, 
Thou, the young cheering star of home, 

Thy mellow radiance there would shed ; 
! soothing then thy hand would be ! 

And keenest anguish lose its smart, 
Attended, cheered and soothed by thee ; 

And when should ceased to beat, this heart, 
Thy hand, these rayless eyes would close, 
And bless me in my last repose. 

But ah ! these fleeting dreams have fled, 

And nothing left except the smart ; 
And I, life's dreary vale must tread, 

Without thy smiles to cheer my heart ; 
My love so strong, my hopes so bright. 

So firm I bound my heart to thee, 
The pang that tore thee from my sight, 

This bosom wrung in agony ; 



122 HELEN IN HEAVEN. 

It clings to thee, though bleeding now, 
And will not, cannot let thee go. 



In thy unspotted holy sphere, 

I dost thou sometimes think of me ? 
Dost thou behold me shed the tear. 

Or hear the sigh I heave for thee ? 
Thy bland affection do I have ? 

In thy pure wishes hold a share ? 
And when I visit thy green grave. 

Does thy young spirit meet me there? 
1 rapturous thought and bliss divine, 
If this fond heart be linked with thine. 



They tell me I had fixed this heart. 

Too firm, too wholly upon thee, 
And the dread pang when forced to part, 

May be eternal gain to me ; 



HELEN IN HEAVEN. 12B 

Oh ! rapturous thought beyond compare ! 

What joys must fill the coming day! 
If this sad breast such bliss shall share. 

As can this keenest pang repay, 
! may I keep this bosom pure, 
And make this glorious prospect sure. 



Ah ! Helen, does thou ever see, 

Within this heart the moral stains ? 
0, no ! no saddening thought can he 

In that blest sphere where pleasure reigns ; 
The silken cord of deathless love 

That bound our hearts together here, 
Is all the bond of bliss above, 

And all of earth admitted there. 
This breast would faint to hold tlie thought 
That earthly ties are all forgot. 



124 HELEN IN HEAVEN. 

And, Helen, when life's brittle band 

Is snapped by death's relentless grasp, 
Then could I see thy little hand, 

Stretch out, in joy, my hand to clasp; 
There could we rove that kindlier shore. 

And walk thy sweet retreats together. 
Where sighs and tears are known no more. 

And heart to heart is bound forever ; 
! were this glorious prospect sure. 
Well might I keenest pangs endure. 



When thy young thoughts began to flow, 

I watched thy mental rose expand. 
And oft instruction tried to show. 

And guide thee w^ith a parent's hand ; 
And rapturous is the thought to me. 

In those blest mansions / my dwell, 
And thou my sweet instructor be, 

And wonders show, no tongue can tell ; 



HEl.EN IN HEAVEN. 125 

Transporting then, the lessons given, 
From thy sweet cherub lips in heaven. 

My mind beholds — transporting sight ! 

My sainted girl above the skies, 
My eyes grow liquid while I write, 

And bosom swells with bursting sighs : 
My feelings here, all words transcend, 

And I can only point above, 
And hope when earth's poor scenes shall end, 

To meet again in realms of love ; 
To rove in bliss that sinless shore, 
And live, and love, and part no more. 



HELEN IN HEAVEN TO HER 
PARENTS. 



Your daughter reposes, 

In fair fields above, 
Midst bright deathless roses, 

Acd sweet bowers of love ; 
Where no sin or sorrow, 

Assails or distresses, 
But one happy morrow 

Enchants her and blesses. 



HELEN IN HEAVEN TO HER PATIENTS. 127 

Here zephyrs are bringing 

The cool balmy breeze, 
And fair birds are singing, 

On bright, fadeless trees ; 
Here rich fruits are growing. 

From waving boughs bending, 
And fresh roses blowing, 

And sweet odors sending. 



'Mid bright fields of pleasure. 

We joyously rove, 
And bliss beyond measure. 

And deep seas of love : 
And no note of sadness 

Is ever heard sounded, 
But sweet notes of gladness, 

Unchecked and unbounded. 



128 HELEN IN HEAVEN TO HER PARENTS. 

Dear father and mother, 

! shed not a tear, 
We love one another, 

Most heartily here ; 
A few days at longest, 

Our destinies sever, 
And ties here are strongest, 

Existing forever. 



Imprint sweetest kisses, 

On dear Marion ^ 
And tell her what bliss is, 

Where Helen is gone ; 
To love me, ! teach her, 

And train her for heaven, 
Where no ill can reach her. 

And no ties are riven. 



HELEN IN HEAVEN TO HEIl PARENTS. 129 

Tell her, till life ended, 

I felt all her joys. 
That same doll I tended, 

And those were my toys ; 
That carrage I 've driven, 

And that was my bonnet, 
And that wreath was given, 

To deck and put on it. 



! tell how I 'd hold her, 

With maidenly pride, 
And wish she was older. 

To rove at my side ; 
tell her what pleasure 

I felt when I kissed her, 
And how great a treasure 

I thought a sweet sister. 



130 HELEN IN HEAVEN TO HER PARENTS. 

But, thougli thus enchanted 

With sisterly love, 
My Father transplanted 

Me early above ; 
And is kindly supplying 

Delights that fade never, 
And keeps me undying 

For ever and ever. 



To her 'tis not granted, 

My looks to recall. 
For I was transplanted 

When she was too small ; 
But tell her that Helen 

Was just such a creature, 
And all my looks dwell in 

Her form, shape, and feature. 



HELEN IN HEAVEN TO HER PARENTS. 131 

Tell her I still love her, 

Young, rosy, and bright, 
And o'er her I hover 

With deepest delight ; 
I watch her young bosom, 

With intelligence warming, 
And the sweet moral blossom 

Unfolding and forming. 



tell how enchanted 

Her sister will be, 
When she is transplanted 

To blossom with me ; 
And deck her, dear mother, 

With fair deathless graces. 
To clasp one another 

In endless embraces. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT? 



What is thy employment, sweet Helen, 
in Heaven ? 
What scenes art thou roving among ? 
What beings for friendship and converse 

are given ? 
! whisper in dreams to my breast, sorrow 
riven, 
With thy own little heaven-tuned tongue. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. IBB 

Oft lit with the beams of His love I behold 
thee, 
Who took little babes in his arms ; 
And in his kind bosom I see him enfold thee, 
And oft in his arms, with tenderness hold 
thee, 
All radiant with Heaven's sweetest charms. 



And now midst a company, white-robed 
and glowing, 
And casting their diadems down, 
I see thee, my sweet one, I loved so well, 

bowing, 
And beaming in beauty before the throne, 
throwing 
Thy own little glittering crown. 



134 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

Midst a choir of blest beings, that ever 
are bringing 
Their harps and their voices of praise ; 
I see thee, my lost one, thy golden harp 

stringing. 
And hear thy sweet voice bursting out into 
singing, 
And joining the heavenly lays. 



In a white, holy company, oft thou art 
straying, 
Heaven's bright golden pavement, above ; 
Or, far in the balmy and azure fields playing. 
High up midst Heaven's glories, in rapture 
surveying 
Beneath thee, the fair scenes of love. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 135 

But whither, 0! now, is the lovely one going ? 

Midst glories unthought^ see her move ; 
What circlets of beauty around her are 

flowing ! 
And what bright effulgence and beauties 
are glowing ! 
She goes on an errand of love. 



Perhaps to despair, thou hast kindly departed, 

To wreathe hope around the sad brow ; 
To comfort the mourner that weeps broken 

hearted ; 
To cheer with sweet comfort, the parent 
that 's parted 
With one who was lovely as thou. 



136 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

Perhaps to thy father or mother, thou 'rt 
straying, 
In visions endearing and bright ; 
Perhaps to thy rosy-cheek'd sister conveying 
Sweet, childlike enjoyment in roving and 
playing. 
With toys that once gave thee delight. 



And now thou dost bow with intensest 
emotion, 

And rove the fair mansions above ; 
And glowing with rapture and holy devotion, 
I see thee now revel, and bathe in an ocean 

Of purity, glory and love. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 137 

Anon, with bold pinions, thy way thou 
art turning, 
Midst stars that are set in the sky ; 
Their history, their size, and their destiny 

learning. 
And finding, with perfect exactness, 
concerning 
Their speed and the orbits, they fly. 



Thy eagle glance casting in far retrospection. 

Thou seamiest when time first began ; 
The might of that fiat that bade earth's 

erection. 
The power that sustains it, and gives sure 
protection, 
To sun, stars and planets, and man. 



\ 



138 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

Perhaps thou canst see at a glance, every 
wonder 
That the eye of Omniscience can meet ; 
Above the bright, starry-decked heaven, 

or under. 
Though spanless the distance that keeps 
them asunder, — 
And then thy young bliss is complete. 



Perhaps at the fountain of wisdom thou 'rt 
drinking. 
Reclining within her sweet bowers ; 
Of Heaven's deep plans and economy 

thinking, 
And seeina: their fitness and brilliance 
unshrinking, 
Too high for our limited powers. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 139 

All, all that look'd dark in our moral 
condition, 
Shines out in ineffable light ; 
And undescribed grandeur unveiled to thy 

vision, 
And justice, and mercy, and love to precision. 
Show providence radiant and bright. 



Redemption — redemption, thou see'st, sweetly 
gazing. 
Immersed in deep oceans of love ; 
While round it the beauty of wisdom 

is blazing, 
Too bright for rapt seraphs, too high, 
too amazing, 
For even clear visions above. 



140 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

Thou read'st at a glance, the historical pages , 

Of earth, when yet tender and young ; 
Of the mighty that ruled her, the patriarchs 

and sages. 
Whose lights are yet shining from far distant 
ages, 
And o'er our late pathway is flung. 



His bright jewell'd harp the sweet Psalmist 
is sweeping, 
Deep-steep'd in the essence of song ; 
Thine own ravish'd bosom in unison keeping, 
While thrills of sweet rapture, incessant, 
are cree|)ing. 
Each keen, living fibre along. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 141 

Thy young spirit lists with delight, and with 
wonder, 
To him who trod Eden's sweet bowers. 
And who stood unscathed amid Sinai's deep 

thunder, 
And who, on drear Patmos, saw heaven's 
glories sunder, 
And Paradise show her sweet flowers. 



Thou talk'st with the pure, and the good 
of each nation, 
That people poor crumbling earth's shore, 
With those who have come out of much 

tribulation, 
With garments washed white in streams 
of salvation, 
All join'd to be parted no more. 



142 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

Some bright little spirit, perhaps, thou 
art leading. 
Just come to the mansions of rest ; 
Or, o'er New Jerusalem's golden streets 

treading, 
Or, the rosy-deck'd pathway of Paradise 
threading. 
In pure robes of holiness drest. 



! glories transcendant, and bliss above 
measure, 
Roll round in a pure, spotless flood ; 
To love and be loved is thy holiest treasure. 
To bask free from sin, is thy most intense 
pleasure, 
In the pure, holy smiles of thy God- 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 143 

! Helen, too brilliant for mortal discerning, 

Thy home of enjoyment and love ; 
Too piercing' the blaze that around thee 

is burning, 
Too heavenly the lessons thou art constantly 
learning. 
For any but visions above. 



And now in the page of the future thou'rt 
reading, 
With vision all cloudless and briQ:ht ; 
When thou and thy kindred those plains 

shall be treading, 
On joys and sweet raptures incessantly 
feeding, 
With new and increasing delight. 



144 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

Perhaps when thou look'st from the starry- 
decked azure, 
Thou sheddest a tear at our lot ; — 
Hush ! hush ! not a tear is e'er mix'd with 

thy pleasure, 
But pure joys unnumbered, and bliss beyond 
measure. 
Are strewn o'er that beautiful spot. 



With grief is thy heart for our destiny 
riven ? 
No ! grief cannot touch heart like thine ; 
Thou knowest all is right that is ordered 

by Heaven ; 
And every thing right, with joy must enliven, 
Such blessed young bosoms as thine. 



WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 145 

A.nd, ! canst thou pierce that effulgence 

before thee, 
That radiates from Heaven's awful throne ? 
The bright burnish'd halo of that Central 

Glory, 
That love-lights these boundless enjoyments 
before thee ? 
Thou canst, little cherubic one. 



! who from these bright joyous realms 
would recal thee, 
To leave that pure love-lighted home ? 
Thou 'rt now where no ill and no change can 

befall thee, 
No trouble, no trial, can threat or appal thee; 
Rest ! rest thee in joy, till we come. 



10 



146 WHAT IS THY EMPLOYMENT. 

And may we live lioly, till death shall 
dissever, 

The bands that confine to earth's shore ; 
And then be united in friendship former^ 
And spend long eternity sweetly together, 

To weep and be parted no more. 



TO MY BREAST PIN, 

CONTAINING A LOCK OF HER HAIR, WITH THE 
NAME, AGE, AND DATE OF HER DEATH. 



Sweet little monitor, I place 

And wear thee near my heart. 
Not for thy form and glittering face, 

So sweet, so dear thou art ; 
I wear thee not, so gaily set. 

To raise the envious sigh. 
Applause to gain, or smiles to get. 

Or dazzle fancy's eye ; 



148 TO MY BREAST PIN. 

I choose thee not, fair gem, to be 

Companion of my breast, 
At idle fashion's vain decree, 

Or lordly pride's behest. 

But next this throbbing heart I'll set, 

And let the jewel shine, 
That it may ne'er, through life, forget 

That Gem that once was mine ; 
And when I see the bonnie hair. 

Within its golden bed. 
Sweet Helen's self — I see her there, 

That wore it on her head. 

The name — the name — ah I there 't is 
set. 

In golden lines 't is told ; 
More dear, more precious to me yet, 

Than mines of finest gold. 



TO MY BREAST PIN. 149 

That name — sweet name, I used to call 

Thrice sacred, now appears ; 
'T is spoke — the hallowed accents fall. 

Strange music to my ears. 



Her age ! hush ! hush ! my bleeding heart 

Almost a girl, she'd sprung ; 
How keen the pang that bade me part, 

With one so fair and young. 
Almost a girl — yes, every charm, 

Round her young features twined ; 
Intelligence, affection warm, 

Beam'd from her opening mind ; 
And every da}^ excursive thought 

Wing'd onward, more and more. 
And many a little gem she brought. 

And swelFd her mental store. 



150 TO MY BREAST PIN. 

How dread the bolt that crush'd this heart, 

How keen the i^rief that wrung ; 
He only feels, Avho 's had to part, 

With one so fair and young. 
Jilmost a girl — the rosiest spot. 

On life's short checkered way ; 
The springing grace — the forming thought — 

Bright, innocent, and gay ; 
The smiles that light the laughing eye — 

The maiden charms that start, — 
! then, for one so fair to die, 

Might crush a parent's heart. 

The death — the death — in burnish'd gold 

That thrilling record 's placed ; 
There, that last withering scene is told, 

Too keen to be effaced. 



TO MY BREAST PIN. 151 

I see her on her restless bed, 

Her plaintive cries I hear ; 
Her wasting form, her tossing head, 

Fresh in my mind appear. 
These thrilling scenes, ah ! here they dwell, 

In every fibre yet, 
When hope, alternate, rose and fell. 

Rose, flickered, faded, set. 
And when refreshed, ! how she tried 

Her wonted smiles to wear ; 
" I 'm better, father," oft she cried, 

Our breaking hearts to cheer. 
A mother's hand, when faint and weak, 

Could only bring relief ; 
None but a mother's tongue could speak. 

Words that could soothe her grief. 



152 TO MY BREAST PIN. 

But ah ! that last sad night that broke, 

When hope's weak fibres snapp'd, 
And dread reality awoke, 

In midnight darkness wrapt — 
Kind friends, that watch'd her latest breath, 

And saw life's light depart, 
That closed those faded eyes in death. 

Your kindness fills this heart. 

! when our feverish sleep ye broke. 
And gently bade us rise, 

1 almost hear the words ye spoke, 
" Get up, tjweet Helen dies." 

! what a scene ! the half-drawn breath, 

Wan cheek, and fading eye, — 
Cease, cease thy grasp, relentless Death, 

Let not mv Helen die ! 



TO MY BREAST PIN. 153 

But hush ! that stillness ! breathes she now ? 

That cheek ! how pale and wan ! 
Those glassy eyes beneath her brow, 

See not, — she gasps — " she^s gone.'^ 

! tears ! when plung'd in seas of grief, 

And whelming woe appears, 
One gushing flood brings sweet relief. 

Of balmy, soothing tears. 
The tolling bell — the sable pall — 

The slowly moving train — 
The dreary home — I see ye all, 

And feel ye all again. 
For this — for this — the gem I wear, 

For this — so dear I prize, 
That all these scenes may circle there, 

Whene'er it meets my eyes. 



154 TO MY BREAST PIN. 

And while in sparkling gold thou 'rt decked, 

Reflecting Sol's bright rays, 
! sacred monitor, reflect 

These scenes of by-gone days ; 
And let fond memory's sacred tie, 

Round every fibre twine 
With silken cords, too firm to die — - 

This duty, gem, be thine. 



HELEN'S FIRST BIRTHDAY IN 
HEAVEN. 



A YEAR has fled since that sweet tie, 
That bound us here so close was riven, 

And thou hast pass'd above the sky. 

One year, one year of love in heaven ; 

Yes, thou hast roved that happy sphere. 

And worn heaven's fadeless robes, one fair, 
one blissful year. 



156 Helen's first birthday in heaa^en. 

Sweet flower, I must call thee flower, 

That bloomed so fair and fled so 
fleetly. 

Transplanted to a lovelier bower. 

To shoot more fair and bloom moi-e 

sweetly ; 
This hallow'd day Fll keep forever, 
Within this stricken breast, and ne'er forget 

it — never. 



Ah ! dost thou mark this day, my love. 

Where all is joy that wraps thy vision : 

And do they note time's flight above ; 
Or is it lost in deep fruition ? 

Perhaps, love's increase in that sphere, 

Is all the index there to tell the blissful 
year. 



Helen's first birthday in heayen. 157 

The first birthday^ since thou wast born, 
A fair young spirit pure for heaven, 

To pass one bright and blissful morn, 
One cloudless noon, one sun-lit even ; 

Such gain was thine, this aching heart 

Could almost hless the day that sever'd us 
apart. 

When here thy birthday came around, 
The year's swift circuit gaily closing, 

Some annual gift was always found, 
Within thy little box reposing ; 

But now there's nought I can impart. 

But warm undying love, and this unchanging 
heart. 

Is there no silken tie that binds 

This stricken heart to thee, sweet blossom ? 
Is there no vital cord that finds 

A cord responsive in thy bosom ? 



158 Helen's first birthday in heaven. 

! I will cherish still the thought, 
That love's binght sacred tie is not in heaven 
forgot. 

And while amidst heaven's holy bowers, 
Thou art, seraphic one, transplanted, 

And rov'st among sweet, fadeless flowers. 
With breast elated and enchanted, — 

Let one fond thrill steal down below. 

And warm this stricken heart that feels thy 
absence so. 

And as this day shall annual roll, 
I'll feel that shorter cords are given, 

To twine around and bind my soul 

More close to thee, sweet one, in heaven ; 

And when earth's last birthday is done, 

! may my first in heaven unite us both in 
one. 



MY LOST ONE. 



Infant spirit, infant spirit, 

Who like some young dove, 
Fresh as morning, mild as even, 
Took thy early flight to heaven, 
Yonder home of love. 

Happy spirit, happy spirit, 

Not a tear or sigh 
E'er can mar that thrilling pleasure, 
Gushing without bound or measure, 

Tn thy home on high. 



160 THE LOST ONE. 

Wandering spirit, wandering spirit, 

Boundless is thy roam ; 
Free thou fly'st on joy's glad pinions. 
Far through pleasure's wide dominions, 

And 't is all thy home. 

Sainted spirit, sainted spirit, 

Not a spot or stain. 
Frailty or neglected duty 
On thy pure etherial beauty. 

E'er may stamp again. 



Deathless spirit, deathless spirit, 

Safely borne away, 
Where decay can never enter, 
Where full floods of being centre. 

And where all is day. 



THE LOST ONE. 161 

Watchful spirit, watchful spirit, 

Thou dost ever see, 
When thy father's stricken bosom 
Heaves a sigh for that young blossom, 

That he lost in thee. 



Filial spirit, filial spirit, 

Still thy little breast 
Thrills with joy to see thy mother, 
Who more sweet than any other, 

Made thy cradle blest. 



Kindred spirit, kindred spirit, 

Thou with eyes of love, 

Still dost look upon thy sister, 

Sweet as when thou fondly kissed her. 

Ere thou fled'st above. 
11 



162 THE LOST ONE. 

Smiling spirit, smiling spirit, 

Let me think I see 
Thy sweet arms spread out to clasp me, 
Thy sweet hands held out to grasp me, 

As I'm Hearing thee. 



Guardian spirit, guardian spirit. 

If the boon be given, 
Come, come and rove beside me. 
Cheer me, keep me, hold me, guide me, 

In the way to heaven. 



Loving spirit, loving spirit. 

When this life is o'er. 
May we meet thee joyous hearted. 
Where the blest are never parted. 

On that blissful shore. 



THE SICK CHILD. 



! HAVE you watch'd beside the bed, 

Of some sweet child, a fair young blossom ? 
That just began her charms to spread, 

And with delight to fill your bosom ! 
Then have ye been compelled to cope, v 

With feelings, which no pen has painted, 
Ye caught at every gleam of hope, 

At every shade, your bosom fainted. 

When anguish wrung her fair young frame, 
Ye felt the keenest pain and anguish ; 

When languishment and sinking came. 

Ye felt your own heart faint and languish ; 



164 THE SICK CHILD. 

When peevishness from pain would start, 
And all your kindness could not smootli it, 

Fresh floods of soothing in her heart 
Ye pour'd, to pacify and sooth it. 



But when sweet patience lit her frame, 

And sure disease was silent creeping, 
No sigh arose, no murmur came, 

As calmly as if sweetly sleeping- 
Disease's secret might ye spied, 

The vital powers in silence wearing- 
Then, then, your anxious bosom died, 

Within you fainting and despairing. 



When by keen pangs of anguish tost, 
And pain was every fibre wringing. 

Your breast its own distress forgot, 

In hers, and sweetest comfort bringing. 



THE SICK CHILD. 165 

But when disease, with silent tread, 

Caused her young frame to fade and 
languish, 

Then every feeliuo; fibre bled. 

With its own withering woe and anguish. 

Perhaps she lived — then after-bliss, 

Wreathed round her rainbow hues of 
gladness. 
And fortune's star lit high with this 

Dispersed each former shade of sadness. 
Perhaps she died — then every pain, 

And every pang lived fresh as ev^r, 
Ye passed the scenes all o'er again, 

And ye forgot them, never, never. 

My heart, my heart, I'd ne'er forget 

The thrilling, chilling scenes, that rent me. 

But cherish them within me yet. 

As keepsakes, that kind heaven has sent me, 



166 THE SICK CHILD. 

'T is good to keep them fresh and fair, 
For they impart a painful pleasure, 

! may I hold them, deathless there, 
And clasp them, as a heaven-sent treasure. 



PASSING HER GRAVE 



Sweet girl, sweet girl — I never pass 

That little grave of thine, 
But my heart sighs, alas ! alas ! 

What withered hopes are mine ! 



Youth's dreams, how gay — youth's hopes, 
how bright ! 

My first born girl to see ! 
But youth's gay dreams, and hope's fair light, 

They took their flight with thee. 



168 PASSING HER GRAVE. 

And though old Time witli lightning rush, 

Is hurrying us apart, 
Yet Helen starts 'neath memory's brush, 

And nestles in my heart. 

The bed where sleeps my sainted child, — 

! when I pass it by, 
Methinks she smiles as once she smiled, 

When " Father's '' steps drew nigh. 

When thoughts like these come o'er my heart. 

Like rainbow hues of even, 
Youth's dreams revive, hope's visions start, 

And I'm with thee in heaven. 

! guide us, Father, as we roam, 

On life's rough ocean tost, 
Until our bark gets safely home. 

Without a dear one lost. 



LAY ME NOT ALONE. 



When fleeting life is done, 

! lay me not alone, 

But near that dear and lovely one, 

1 used to call my oivn ; 
When I shall turn to clay, 

As this frail body must, 
'Tis doubly sweet to think I may 

Commingle with her dust, 
That lovely dust, once bright and fair, 

As if grace set her signet there. 



170 LAY ME NOT ALONE, 

'T will sweeten weary life, 

When earthly prospects part ; 
'Twill start like hope 'midst wildest strife, 

And soothe this aching heart. 
When for her loss I sigh. 

And heart would sink and faint, 
In vivid tints before my eye, 

This blessed hope 't will paint ; 
That I may be, when earth shall fade, 
With one I lov'd so dearly laid. 

'T will sweeten deatli's dread hour, 

When earth begins to fail, 
And deck with many a blushing flower, 

The grave's dark, dreary vale. 
And when decay and gloom, 

Before my eyes are brought, 
'T will cheer my way, 't will light the tomb, 

With this enrapturing thought ; 
With that dear form so loved before, 
I may unite, to part no more. 



LAY ME NOT ALONE. 171 

Let cold philosophy, 

Its icy precepts say, 
And tell how vain our wishes be 

Where these frail frames may lay. 
When told to reason s ear, 

Conviction's rays may dart, 
But, ! how cheerless they appear 

To a fond parent's heart. 
Who loves the dust beneath his feet, 
That form'd a frame so fair and sweet. 



THE EARLY DEATH 



The bud within its little cup, 
Exposed so sweet a blossom, 

The Saviour kindly took it up, 
And put it in his bosom. 



And there in fadeless bloom it grows, 
By heavenly hands attended. 

Secure from nipping frost and snows, 
With kindred blossoms blended. 



THE EARLY DEATH. 173 

! how much sweeter its perfume 

In spotless charms expanded, 
Since earth had never stained its bloom, 

But in the bud transplanted ! 

The early frost ! — the early frost — 
Then tenderest ties are riven — 

The fairest things to earth are lost, 
The purest gained for heaven. 

Then let us hush the rising sigh. 
Though death the bond dissever, 

It takes from earth to yonder sky, 
A bud to bloom forever. 

No heart can think, no tongue can tell, 
The lovely charms adorning, . 

The little bud I lov'd so well. 
In its existance's morning. 



174 THE EARLY DEATH. 

'T is sweet to think, beyond compare, 

That one I loved so tender, 
Expands in yonder bright parterre, 

In heaven's meridian splendor. 



Where vernal suns and summer showers, 
Pour down their treasures, never, 

For beams of love dress up the flowers, 
In beauty's robes forever. 



PART THIRD. 



DEDICATION OF PART THIRD. 



I DEDICATE this third Part of this book, to the 
memory of my dear little namesake, 

CHARLES THURBER LAZELL, 

who lived just long enough to show his worth, and twine 
himself around our hearts ; and his two beautiful sisters, 
both bearing the hallowed name of my deceased 
daughter, 

HELEN MARIA LAZELL, 

children of my only sister ; and 

CHARLES AUGUSTUS FIELD, 

a promising son of a sister of my deceased wife, and 
who was drowned at Newton ; and little 

EDDIE HOLBROOK, 

12 



178 DEDICATION OF PART THIRD. 



with whom I used to sport so often, and whose black 
eyes and raven ringlets used to attract the notice of all ; 
and of the other 

LITTLE SAINTS, 

to whom reference Is made In most of the other pieces 
In the book, and with all of whom I had a personal 
acquaintance, and for whom I had a sincere regard. 



HELEN MARIA LAZELL. 



'T IS strange affection's bond should grow, 

As if 't would perish 7iev€7', 
And cling around the bosom so, 

When one short hour may sever ; 
That heavenly Hope, angelic guest, 

So oft should be imparted, 
To twine around a parent's breast, 

And leave him broken hearted. 



180 HELEN MARIA LAZELL. 

Short, ! how short thy date below ! 

And yet, young drooping blossom, 
'T was almost death to feel the blow 

That tore thee from our bosom ; 
That quenched the hopes that made us blest. 

And lit life's future morrow ; 
That left thy doating parent's breast, 

erwhelm'd with gloom and sorrow. 

Though full of keenest grief and pain, 

The blow that did dissever ; 
We know 't will be the dearest gain, 

To thee, lost one, forever ; 
Those buddiug charms, that here were sweet, 

Such deep enchantments lending. 
Will there expand in bloom complete, 

Unfading and unending. 



HELEN MARIA LAZELL. 181 

Thy cousin, Helen,* there thou It see. 

Whose name to thee was given ; 
Ah ! she will gladly welcome thee. 

To share the joys of Heaven. 
And Avhen a few more years are run, 

A few farewells are spoken. 
We hope to join thee one by one, 

And find the throng unbroken. 



* This little girl died at the age of 4 yeais and 9 month.*, 
a few days after the birth of the subject of this notice. 



HELEN MARIA LAZELL, 

AND CHARLES THURBER LAZELL, SISTER AND 
BROTHER OF THE FORMER. 



! HAS another Helen gone 

To join the two in Heaven ? 
So early put the garments on, 

To spotless cherubs given ! 
Methonght I saw as there she lay, 

Within her narrow cell, 
And we had gathered round her clay, 

To look a last farewell, 



HELEN MARIA LAZELL, 183 

Her ransomed spirit mount above, 

How spotless and how fair ! 
Upon a rainbow arch of love, 

Where little spirits are. 



I saw her at the crystal gate, 

On golden hinges hung ; 
And two 3"0ung cousin Helens wait. 

To catch her as it swung. 
Methought the gate wide open flew, 

Let in the little guest, 
And quick as thought, the other two 

Were clinging to her breast. 
They brought a garment dipp'd in love, 

With sweetest smiles 't was given, 
A robe that they themselves had wove. 

Since they had been in Heaven. 



184 HELEN MARIA LAZELL. 

A crown of gold the cousins made, 

To fit her little brow ; 
A jewelFd harp that ne'er was played, 

But kept in tune till now. 



! then methought I saw them lead 

The new born spirit on, 
Where He, who came on earth to bleed. 

Sat on his burnished throne. 
Within his arms the saint he took, 

And kissed, and kissed her there ; 
Then clothed her with that heavenly look. 

That seraphs only wear. 



There is a silver cord of love. 
That issues from the throne, 

That twines around the saints above, 
And binds them all in one. 



HELEN MARIA LAZELL. 185 

He twined around the holy tie, 

When Heaven's high arches rung ; 
And sweeter notes were heard on high, 

For one new seraph sung. 
The sweetest harp, the fairest robe. 

The brightest crown is given, 
To one that early leaves the globe, 

And goes unscathed to Heaven. 
I saw the fairy Helens rove, 

United hand in hand, 
With little hearts brim full of love. 

All round the spirit land. 
! once methought I saw them sit 

Within a shady bower, 
With every beauteous tree in it, 

And every deathless flpwer. 
Bright diamonds blazed 'midst many a gem, 

That from the branches hung ; 
And jewels there from many a stem. 

In gay confusion sprung. 



186 HELEN MARIA LAZELL. 

And there the cousin cherubs sat, 
In such a grove as this, — 

There is no sweeter place than that 
In all the realms of bliss. 

A brighter smile was on their brow, 
Than they were wont to wear, 

As if some sweeter duty now. 
Had called the council there. 

Methought I saw them plat a crown, 

A lovely little one ; 
And then they set it, up and down, 

With many a precious stone ; 
And then they bent a golden rod. 

And stretched Qach silver string, 
And made a harp to worship God, 

When saints and angels sing. 



CHARLES THURBER LAZELL. 187 

And then they spun some silver thread, 

And drew it through and through ; 
! how their tiny fingers played. 

As o'er the threads they flew ! 
And here and there I saw them go, 

And draw the threads around ; 
Until a garment white as snow, 

Lay glittering on the ground. 
Then stood they breathless, looking down 

Upon the far off globe, 
One seized the harp, and one the crown, 

And one the snow white robe. 
I saw them on their pinions flit, 

With brimming bliss elate, 
Nor stopped they till they joyous lit 

Beside the outer gate. 
There stood they sweetly side by side, 

Their bosoms filled with joy ; 
And when the gate swung open wide, 

They saw a lovely boy. 



188 CHARLES THURBER LAZELL. 

And as he stood — the high arched brow, 

The looks, serene as even, 
Bespoke a noble spirit now. 

Had come to dwell in Heaven. 
The quivering lip, the pallid face, 

Showed just enough to tell 
He'd struggled hard in death's embrace. 

And triumphed o'er it well. 
But when he stepp'd within the door, 

Upon the plains of bliss, 
Each trace of pain was seen no more, 

But heavenly looks were his. 
•' 'T is Charley, Charley," cried the girls, 

And brighter looks they wore : 
And e'en their fair ambrosial curls, 

Look'd fairer than before. 
They clung around their little guest, 

They kissed the kiss of love ; 
They welcomed him among the blest. 

In holy courts above. 



CHARLES THURBER LAZELL. 189 

But one there was so fair and young, 

That gave the sweetest kiss, 
That longest to his bosom clung, — 

! that was little " sis." 
She 'd bid her Charles a last good bye, 

One little month before ; 
And ! how sweet to meet on high, 

And love, and part no more. 
The harp of gold, the robe of snow, 

They gave the little one ; 
They crowned his high and noble brow, 

And led him toward the throne ; 
The Saviour, smiling, took the boy, 

The kiss of love was given ; 
And off he ran, brim full of joy, 

All o'er the courts of Heaven. 

Ten thousand, thousand boys and girls, 

Sweet little cherubs now. 
With blissful looks and raven curls, 

And crowns upon the brow. 



190 CHARLES THURBER LAZELL. 

Now formed a throng — so vast a throng 

Might fill a world like this — 
And there they roved along — along, 

All o'er the realms of bliss. 
Among the flowers, they sipp'd at joy, 

From every honeyed cup 
They drank it free without alloy, 

And never drank it up ; 
New raptures sprang in rich supply, 

Each cup of bliss ran o'er ; 
! 't was too pure for mortal eye — 

And I could see no more. 



CHARLES AGU8TUS FIELD, 

WHO WAS DROWNED AT NEWTON. 



Alas, how rudely snatched away, 

My blooming- little boy, 
Whom I had hop'd, full many a day. 

To be my pride and joy ; 
Could I have seen thy smiling face, 

And took thy parting kiss, 
One last farewell, one fond embrace — 

I could have call'd it bliss ; 



192 CHARLES AUGUSTUS FIELD. 

Could I have bent above tliy bed, 

"With all a parent's care, 
And sooth'd thy pangs and held thy head, 

And cheer'd thee sweetly there ; — 
And when thy last faint pulse had beat, 

And hush'd, thy latest breath. 
Could I have laid thee, soft and sweet, 

Within the arms of death ; — 
These melting scenes of by-gone days, 

As time rolls on would start, 
And throw around their healing rays, 

To calm this stricken heart. 

But ! to tear my boy away. 

Without one warning hint — 
No last farewell, allowed to say. 

And no sweet kiss imprint — 
To tear him rudely from these arms, 

And from a mother's care — 
To crush those young and budding charms. 

That spoke a bloom so fair — 



CHARLES AUGUSTUS FIELD. 193 

To plunge him in a watery grave. 

With no kind heart to cheer, 
AVith none to stretch the hand to save, 

And none to shed a tear — 
Ah ! this it is, that wrings my heart, 

In deepest agony, 
And makes fresh pangs incessant start, 

For thee, my boy, for thee. 

Farewell, my boy — farewell, my boy-~- 

'T is gain for thee to go — 
'T will waft thee straight to endless joy. 

And fadeless heaven, I know. 
There thy lost brother bids thee come, 

And clasps thee to his heart, 
In fields of pure delight to roam, 

No more to sigh or part ; 

13 



194 CHARLES AUGUSTUS FIELD. 

And when my days that now remain, 
Shall sink in death's drear even, 

! may I meet my boys again. 
And clasp them both in heaven. 



EDWARD PLINY HOLBEIOOK. 



The death of Edward Plixy Holbrook, son of 
Pliny Holbrook, at the interesting age of six years 
and ten months, sujjojested the following lines 

T SHALL never see Eddie again ; 

His short, weary journey is o'er, 
I shall look for his features in vain, 
I shall see his eyes sparkle no more, 
And his fair raven curls that Avould float on a 

breath, 
I must look for them now on the pillow of 
death. 



196 EDWARD PLINY HOLE HOOK. 

How oft have I seen him, alas ! 
Come flying as gay as a bird, 
With the bright little Sabbath school class, 
When the bell's merry summons was 
heard, 
And, methought, as I saw him sit calmly as 

even, 
He was taking his first little lessons for 
heaven. 



Ah ! little thought I as he passed, 

A few days ago through the door, 
That his lesson that day Avas the last, 
And I should behold him no more ; 
0, God! may it prove, when the truth shall 

appear, 
That he's holier and happier for lessons 
learned here. 



EDWARD PLINY HOLBROOK. 197 

And, ! may the little ones think, 

As they see him no more in his class, 
That they, too, may be on the brink 
Of the river, all mortals must pass ; 
And here may they gather each bright little 

Q,"em, 
That would deck the sweet garlands of Eddie 
and them. 

Poor boy ! 0, how oft I had hoped 

He would live and grow up to a man. 
But the dark, dreary future has oped 
And shown that his life was a span ; 
But I'll think of that boy, until memory 

dies. 
With his fair, silken locks, and his black 
flashing eyes, 

Worcester J July 6, 1849. 



SAMUEL KNOX, OF GRAFTON. 



! CAN it be a year has fled, 
Its scenes of grief and joy, 

Since I was bending o'er the bed 
Of thee, my sainted boy ? 



Since almost with a bursting heart, 
I watched each faint-drawn breath, 

And felt I could not let thee part. 
To meet th' embrace of death. 



SAMUEL KNOX. 199 

My first horn son — what a tie 

Was tliat to rend apart ! 
My only one — that he must die. 

Shot daggers to my heart. 

Ten thousand schemes of love and joy. 

Which fathers always plan, 
And dreams about a darling boy, 

When he shall be a man ; 

The thousand hopes that daily woke 
And down the future smiled, — 

All these would die beneath the stroke. 
That should destroy my child. 

Until I saw the closing gasp, 
And we were forced to part, 

I did not know how firm a grasp 
He had upon my heart. 



200 SAMUEL KNOX. 

That fatal blow — that fatal blow, 

That smote so fair a son, 
I did not know I loved him so, 

Until the deed was done. 

When one we love is torn away 

And we are left behind, 
How thick the beams of memory play, 

And cluster round the mind ! 

The acts he did, the words he spake, 

The pleasing smile he wore. 
From drear oblivion's dreams awake, 

As fresh as e'er before. 

" He's not all dead," he sweetly said, 

When one he used to know 
Was placed within his narrow bed — 

And smiled to think it so. 



SAMUEL KNOX. 201 

" He's not all dead " — this thought to me 

Shoots purer thrills of joy, 
Because 't was sweetly said by thee, 

My darling little boy. 

" He's not all dead " — ah ! thou art where 
Pure joys and pleasures reign ; 

! I will hope to meet thee there, 
And live and love again. 

Alas ! my boy, though sunde'red far 
Beyond those orbs that shine, 

1 look above that twinkling star. 

And claim thee still as mine. 

Thou 'rt mine, because that silken band, 

That death cannot dissever, 
Still reaches to the spirit land, 

And binds us firm together. 



202 SAMUEL KNOX. 

Thou 'rt mine, because ten thousand wrecks. 

Of former hopes and joys, 
Are strewn all o'er life's retrospects, 

And whisper, " They 're thy boy's." 

In yonder consecrated ground, 

Among the sculptured stones. 
The chisel's trace on one is found, 

That whispers, " 't is thy son's." 

And in hope's pictures, bright and fair, 

Of scenes beyond the tomb. 
My little boy is always there. 

And seems to bid me come. 

I he's not lost — he's only where. 

His form^ I cannot see ; 
An inch of time may bring me there. 

And join my boy and me. 



SAMUEL KNOX. 203 

He 's step'd within the peaceful tomb, 

As if he 'd gone to find 
A quiet sleep within his room, 

And left his friends behind. 

! it shall be a source of joy, 
That earth 's so near to heaven. 

That love can go and clasp my boy 
And feel a welcome given. 

0, Thou, who smitest but to heal, 

I've felt thy chastening rod, 
Assist me now to do thy will, 

And put my trust in God. 

That when I 've trod life's journey o'er, 

And at death's portal stand, 
My Samuel at the opening door, 

May wave his little hand ; 



204 SAMUEL KNOX. 

And cry, " Fear not, the threshold crossed, 

You'll find no thrill but joy ; 
This is the little one you lost. 

He's now an angel boy/' 



SUGGESTED 

BY THK DKATIl OF THE ONLY CHILD OF A FRIEND. 



Child of promise — child of promise 

Called so early home ; 
Like a floweret drop'd from Heaven, 
Crushed and mangled, torn and riven, 

In its infant bloom. 

! mysterious love, whose fibres 

Bound us heart to heart ; 
Rapture, when at first it thrilled me, — 
Heaven, when full fruition tilled me, — 

Death, when rent apart. 



206 SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF 

Fondly hoped I — ah ! too fondly — 

Thou wouldst live and love ; 
Live, to close my eyes at even, — 
liove, for some high trust of Heaven, 
Then, meet me above. 

All was blasted when my treasure 

Sweetest, firmest, seemed ; 
Sweetest, that the blow might reach me,- 
Firmest, that the loss might teach me. 

I had fondlv dreamed. 

Sick and weary, as I saw thee. 

Sweet to hear thee say. 
Mild as if an angel plead it. 
Sweet as if a cherub said it : 

'' Mother, let me pray.'' 



THE ONLY CHILD OF A FRIEND. 207 

! lier simple prayer — " Dear Father, 

Search this little heart ; 
Break each guilty, sinful fetter, 
Wash it — cleanse it — make it better, 

Holy, as Thou art." 



Dove of Mercy, in thine errands, 
Didst Thou change her heart ? 
! disperse my doubts completely, 
For Hope whispers soft and sweetly, 
That she ^s where Thou art. 



Oft she said as some young convert 
Bowed beneath the wave : 

! that this young heart were holy ! 

Gladly would I bow as lowly. 
In that liquid grave. 



208 SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF 

Gone, the vision — and has left me 

Cheerless and in gloom ; 
Cheerless, for she was my only, — 
Gloomy, for the way seems lonely, 
Onward to the tomb. 



At each step, my dear one meets me, 

In life's giddy whirl ; 
Home 's all traced with memory's finger, 
There the fresh mementos linger. 

Of that sainted girl. 



Sabbath morning — ah 1 those footsteps, 

Tapping on the floor — 
Almost I expect the greeting, 
" Mother, fix me for the meeting '' — 

Ah ! 't is heard no more 



THE ONLY CHILD OF A FRIEND. 209 

Then, that Sabbath seat — 'tis vacant — 

But all round, I see 
Cherubs, that my dear one greeted, 
Sometimes, e'en beside me seated — 

But there's none for me. 



Fairy group of Sabbath Scholars — 

Sweet and sad the scene — 
Sweet, for there I 've seen my daughter, 
Sad, to think the first young martyr, 

Should my girl have been. 



Yes, fond mothers, clasp your darlings 

But w^hile ye so gay. 
Smile on one and greet another, 
Think, there's none to call me mother, 

None to cheer my w^ay. 



14 



210 SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 

Hush, my heart — nor dare to murmur - 

'T was my dearest Friend ; 
Whom he loves, he deigns to chasten, 
Cuts dear ties, and bids them hasten 

Where no unions end. 



Tears — alas, they 're unavailing ; 

Sighs — alas, they 're vain ; 
Father, let thy grace be given, 
That I may in yonder heaven, 

Meet my girl again. 



Then, I 'd toil on, mild and cheerful, 

Till my change shall come ; 
Then, ! then, how glad the greeting. 
Then, ! then, how blest the meeting, 
When we all get home ! 



CAROLINE SPEAR. 



Bright little Gem, so charming set. 

By him who deck'd these skies above, 
In that bright glowing coronet, 

That sweetly crown'd parental love : 
Fair Bud, upon a lovely stem, 

Whose petals just began to ope. 
And deck the flowery diadem, 

That wreathed life's bright and sunny hope; 
That Gem — was it so soon to fade ? 
That Bud — so quick to perish, made ? 



212 CAROLINE SPEAR. 

! ye, who iiga- er felt the thrill, 

The magic name of " child " imparts, 
Nor drank th' enchanting draughts that fill, 

And captivate parental hearts. 
Can never feel the pangs that rend 

The heart, and blast its prospects o'er. 
When that deep magic thrill shall end, 

And those sweet draughts are drunk no 
more ; 
When some dear child, all life and bloom, 
Is gather'd to an early tomb. 

For retrospection clear and bright, 

Ten thousand melting scenes portrays. 
And clothes in robes of living light, 

The thrilling hours of by-gone days ; 
When that young form so sweet repos'd. 

Within a mother's circling arms, 
And every day and hour disclos'd. 

Some new and fascinating charms, 



CAROLINE SPEAR. 213 

That twin'd their tendrils round, and knit 
A parent's soul more firm with it : 

The kindlings of parental pride, 

When first she stood upon her feet, 
Or gladly tottered at our side. 

In prattle, voluble and sweet ; 
Or when the chattering tongue first wove 

Its sounds in sweet and lisping words, 
Or warbled notes, all glee and love. 

And charming as the song of birds ; 
The joys that " father," " mother,'' flung. 
When utter'd by her little tongue : 



The golden hopes and gloomy fears, 
As lights or shades around her came, 

The rainbow smiles and starting tears, 
As health or sickness touch'd her frame. 



214 CAROLINE SPEAR. 

The constant vigils that were kept, 
To watch the dawnings of the mind, 

The strong parental bond that crept, 
And closer round the heart entwin'd ; 

These all more closely touch the heart. 

When call'd from some dear child to part. 



And when disease its signet set 

Upon her, swooning on her bed, 
! can a mother e'er forget 

The pangs she felt, the tears she shed? 
And when the little suffering thing 

Look'd earnest up to ask relief. 
When she no sweet relief could bring, 

Ah ! can she e'er forget her grief? 
So young, so helpless, suffering, mild, 
! can she e'er forget her child ? 



CAROLINE SPEAR. 215 

And then the last, the parting blow, 

When life has almost broke away — 
The eye so dim — the pulse so low. 

The sigh — the gasp — the lifeless clay ; 
That clay, so dear, so sweet, so fair. 

We fear'd just now, the breeze might blight, 
Lies breathless and unconscious there, 

An object loathsome to the sight ; 
! keen the pang — severe the blow — 
To loathe the thing that charm'd us so. 



Thy race was fleet, my little one. 

Though long, I hop'd thy life to be, 
And many a bright and circling sun, 

I thought to sweetly spend with thee : 
I painted fair thy life's career, 

A blooming girl — a blushing youth — 
The charmer of my pathway here. 

With spotless love to light and smooth ; 



216 CAROLINE SPEAR. 

Such charms appeared — such promise thine, 
Such hopes had I, my Caroline. 



The gleams of mind from thee that sprung, 

And lit that eye that spoke so sweet, 
A holier charm around thee flung, 

And bound thee to my heart complete ; 
! how I hop'd that mind to see, 

Expand, and show its hidden lore. 
Such lore as would encircle thee. 

And spread its fascination o'er, 
Then should I see my dear arrayed. 
In sparkling charms that never fade. 



Perhaps, I hoped with many a grace, 
To see thee show thy skill in song ; 

The soft piano's key-board trace, 
And sweep its ivory keys along ; 



CAROLINE SPEAR. 217 

Perhaps, with all a parent's pride, 

In future life's maturer way, 
I sat me cheerful at thy side, 

To hear thy voice perform the lay ; 
But ! 't is past — the dream — the thought. 
The coming bliss — the hope — they 're nought. 



Ah ! can I give thee up, my dear, 

And turn thee from thy father's door. 
As if to bar all entrance here, 

And see thee never, never more ? 
Can I reject thy little form. 

That climb'd my knee and kiss'd me so ? 
With love so sweet, with heart so Avarm, 

! can I, dear one, let thee go ? 
And see thee, rudely, roughly thrust, 
Within a dreary bed of dust ? 



218 CAROLINE SPEAR. 

I must — ! Death, thou wieldest power, 

More potent than the mightiest king ; 
Thou sweepest down the sweetest flower. 

And mak'st it seem a loathsome thing ; 
And be the object ne'er so dear. 

Thou smitest — and 't will instant die ; 
And be the union ne'er so near, 

Thou severest the silken tie ; 
'T is hard — 't is hard — although we know, 
"Tis Thou, ! God, dost deal the blow. 



One only cheering thought is left 
To me bereft of one so dear ; 

The stroke by which this heart 's bereft, 
Eeleas'd her to a holier sphere. 



CAROLINE SPEAR. 219 

Where we again in bliss complete, 
May meet in love, to part no more, 

In bonds more firm, in joy more sweet, 
Upon a holier, happier shore ; 

Where we, in union sweet may rove, 

In one unending round of love. 



THE LITTLE GIRL 



Ah ! little bright and tender thing, 

What charms adorn thee now ? 
What freshness on thy rosy cheeks ? 

What sweetness on thy brow ? 
What joy is mantling o'er thy face, 

And lights the laughing eye ? 
And what sweet buds of intellect, 

Half hid, half blushing lie ? 
The silver locks, all o'er thy head. 

Gay wanting in the breeze ; 
But little one, no pride hast thou, 

Thmi carest not for these. 



THE LITTLE GIRL. 221 

Thy little dress so neatly trimm'd 

And cut in fashion gay, 
Thou in an instant dost forget, 

And run away to play. 
Thy cap and bonnet gaily deck'd 

With ribbons and with lace, 
Though made by fashion's nicest rules, 

With most becoming grace. 
Without a pang, sweet little one, 

Thou 'dst lay them all aside. 
Nor ease and comfort sacrifice, 

For fashion or for pride. 

Sweet picture of implicit faith, 

Unscath'd by sin and guile. 
Thou read'st aright the meaning of 

Thy mother's frown or smile : 
Thou see'st the frown upon her brow, 

And know'st her heart is sad. 
Thou see'st the smile upon her face, 

And feefst her heart is glad. 



222 THE LITTLE GIRL. 

A flash of indignation darts, 

Oft-times, across thy heart. 
But keen resentment and revenge 

Assail not where thou art ; 
The angry flash oft flies along, 

But instinct guides its flight, 
And, lightning-like, in swift career, 

Conveys it out of sight. 



Deception never veils thy heart, 

No guilt exerts her power, 
Nor guile, nor shame, nor deep remorse. 

Assail thee, lovely flower ; 
But innocence triumphant sits 

Upon thy sinless brow, 
Proclaiming all is peace within 

Thy stainless bosom now. 



THE LITTLE GIRL. 223 

Ah ! can it be, the wicked world 

Will twine its meshes round, 
Till thy young heart, my spotless one, 

Its willing slave is found ? 
That thou wilt feel the sway of hate 

And bend to passion's reign. 
In fashion's court, bow servilely, 

A courtier, supple, vain ? 
That, as thy stream of onward life. 

Careers along and flows. 
Thy little heart will be full wed, 

To vain and guady shows ? 



! God, preserve my dearest one, 

My only tender flower, 
keep her pure from grovelling eartli 

And passion's withering power ; 



224 THE LITTLE GIRL. 

Let her, a l)laiid and lovely flower, 
Expand, and blush, and bloom, 

To cheer me, and in green old age 
Be gather'd to the tomb. 



GONE TO SCHOOL. 

SUGGESTED BY THE OCCASION OF OUR DAUGHTER 
FIRST LEAVING HOME FOR SCHOOL. 



Our little bird, our only bird, 
Sweet home's enchanting guest, 

Who *d scarcely for a moment stirred. 
Beyond her native nest, 

Kind Father, let our prayer be heard 
! make our darling blest. 



15 



226 CONE TO SCHOOL. 

On merry wings she's gone to try 

Her first unaided flight, 
And as she learns to sing and fly, 

! may she learn aright ; 
May guardian angels hoyer nigh, 

Whereyer she may light. 

We knew not, till we felt her kiss. 
And heard her chirp " good bye," 

How much it swelled our tide of bliss, 
To haye our birdling nigh ; 

Nor that a flood of joy like this, 
Would with that warbler fly. 

Her sweet " good night " is now unheard, 
Once carolled from her tongue, 

Her gay " good morning," charming word, 
Is through our bowers unrung ; 

The hymns are hushed, our little bird 
At morn and eyening sung. 



GONE TO SCHOOL. 227 

A cloud is hovering o'er our bowers, 
And gathering midst the stems, 

A nipping frost has kissed the flowers, 
And killed a thousand gems, 

For we 've no bird to cheer the hours, 
And chant us merry hymns. 

But better to that classic grove 

To send the boyant thing, 
Where greater skill and equal love. 

Teach how to fly and sing, 
And where the same Celestial Dove 

Will shield her 'neath his wino^. 

And, birdling, while your hymns are heard 

Within yon pearly gate, 
Send up some sweet persuasive word. 

That He who rules our fate. 
Will aid your erring father-bird, 

And bless his wounded mate. 



228 (iONE TO SCHOOL. 

Kind God, thy choicest blessings pour 

On this dear bird of ours, 
That when she visits home once more 

And lights among the flowers, 
She'll have more witcheries than before, 

To charm her native bowers. 



THE CONSECRATED GROUND. 



When earth's latest tie is parted, 

And when tolls the solemn bell, 
When the crush'd and broken hearted 

Bid the dead a last farewell, 
! how sweet, if fond affection 

Still can linger round the spot ! 
Calling up each retrospection 

'Midst such scenes as shock it not ! 



230 THE CONSECRATED GROUND. 

All ! when time has dim'd the lustre 
• Of the memories of the dead, 
Sweet, if friends again ma}^ cluster 

Round their lone and silent bed ; 
Where time's cold and withering finger 

Never writes the word " decay,'' 
But where Nature's charms may linger, 

Springing, budding, blooming, gay. 



Spread the couch to lay the sleeper, 

In the still and lone retreat ; 
Where the groye may screen the weeper. 

Where communion may be sweet. 
Where the songster chants his measure. 

In a wild and hallowed song, 
" Where the hasty heel of pleasure," 

Neyer, never trips along. 



THE CONSECRATED GROUND. 231 

There may friendship, undistracted, 

In the hallowed precinct stand, 
Shut from earth and all that 's acted. 

Close upon the spirit-land. 
There may scenes, now fled for ever, 

Round the memory cluster sweet ; 
There in spirit knit together, 

Friends in sweet communion meet. 



What though Reason coldly teaches, 

" Care not where the frame is thrust ! '' 
Still Affection sweetly preaches, 

" Guard, ! guard the sacred dust.'^ 
Bonds so sweet, and ties so tender, 

Still around the body cling — 
Will not let the heart surrender 

What was once so dear a thing. 



232 THE CONSECRATED GROUND. 

! if e'er, in pristine union, 

Sunder'd hearts again may meet, 
Wiiere can spring the sweet communion, 

If not at the grave's retreat ? 
Where earth's bustle cannot enter. 

Where her pleasures dare not come, 
Where the contemplations centre 

On the scenes beyond the tomb. 



Friendship sickens, sad and solemn, * 

When all o'er the silent dead, 
Shattered stone and broken column, 

Ruin'd mound and tomb are spread. 
Gloom and horror deep are written. 

Sadness o'er the heart is cast, 
As it thinks with anguish smitten, 

'' Here may be my bed at last." 



THE CONSECRATED GROUND. 233 

But who threads the rural mazes, 

O'er the consecrated ground, 
And in mute devotions gazes 

On the green and grassy mound, 
But has felt a calmness stealing, 

Mild as even, o'er his breast, 
As spontaneous rose the feeling, 

" Here may be my silent rest ? " 



! then, in the green recesses, 

Spread the pillows for the dead. 
Where the woodland waves her tresses. 

Where the flowers their odors shed. 
There as each green bed is taken 

By the living, one by one. 
Sweet they '11 sleep, till all awaken 

To a union never done. 



IS THIS OUR HOME ? 



Is this the home, and these the scenes, 

Where man was formed to stay, 
And midst this mingled joy and woe, 

Unlimited to stray ? 
The sweetest scenes that deck the earth, 

Alternate form and fade, 
And every mellow ray of light 

Quick vanishes to shade. 
The grass will die, the flower will fade. 

The tree will shed its sheen. 
And ice, and frost, and driving snow, 

Will spread, where all is green. 



IS THIS OUR HOME. 235 

Are all the aspirations, and 

Advancements of the mind, 
To these poor things of fleeting time 

And grovelling sense confin'd ? 
! melt, my eyes, in briny tears, 

And die, my heart, with grief. 
If but one low and traitor thought 

Should hint the vile belief. 
T is criminal to think that mind. 

Just in its infant bloom. 
And ere one petal quite has spread, 

Should vanish in the tomb ; 
That restless thought and eager hope. 

And reason's piercing beam. 
Should gleam awhile, and melt away 

In drear oblivion's stream. 
But sweet the thought, sublimely sweet, 

To reason's vision given. 
Of greener fields and fairer scenes 

Above the vaulted heaven : 



230 IS THIS OUR HOME. 

Which ne'er will wither, nor decay, 

But wear perpetual bloom, 
When earth, and sea, and vaulted sky, 

Shall find a common tomb. 
Where bliss will grow, and mind expand. 

Without a mete or bound, 
While limitless eternity 

Shall run its ceaseless round. 
Where friendship's tie shall be renewed 

With bonds that perish never. 
And love cement all hearts in one, 

For ever and for ever. 



THOUGHTS. 



When in this dim and checker'd vale of 
sorrow, 
Where cloud and sunshine flit in swift 
career, 
Where smiles to-day are changed to tears 
to-morrow, 
And infant pleasure rides its little bier, 
'T is sweet to think, beyond yon starry azure 
Sails a green globe in that ambrosial air, 
Where joy sits smiling without stint or 
measure. 
And shoots extatic through each bosom 
there ; 



238 THOUGHTS. 

Where spirits rove along their crystal floods, 
And taste the bliss that thrills the breasts 
of gods. 

In one short hour, fade pleasure's fairest 
roses, 
Heart-felt farewells in thick profusion 
stand, 
Oft new-born welcomes one short moment 
closes, 
And death oft palsies friendship's clasping 
hand ; 
But in that world no sad farewells are spoken, 
But welcome, welcome, bursts from every 
tongue. 
The social charm is never marred or broken, 
And social transport is the chorus sung : 
The tie of love, when formed, is sunder'd 

never, 
It grows more strong, and bright, and sweet, 
for ever. 



THOUGHTS. 239 

The holiest thoughts that thrill the human 
bosom, 
Amid poor frail t^^'s erring fancies start, 
And good resolves oft perish in the blossom. 

Ere they can touch and actuate the heart ; 
But ah ! away, beyond that twinkling star. 

There is a bright and ever verdant realm ; 

! every thing is pure and spotless there. 

For radiant Wisdom sits and rules the 

helm ; 

There gushing thoughts, unscath'd by frailty, 

start. 
Pure as the tablet of an angel's heart. 



The sweetest bowl that Hope e'er gives to sip. 
Is mingled often with a base alloy, 

For when she puts it to the parching lip, 
Down, down, is dash'd the brimming cup 
of joy ; 



240 THOUGHTS. 

But far on high, there is a verdant spot, 
Where Hope's sweet pencil never left 
its traces, 
For deep fruition fills each teeming thought, 
And beams in beauty from their cherub 
faces ; 
Each happy dweller on that verdant shore. 
Finds each successive cup of joy run o'er. 

Ah ! human knowledge, how of thee we boast ! 

We almost think us deified by thee ! 
And yet the wisest on Truth's boundless coast 

Find that it is the merest speck we see ; 
But that bright world spreads treasures for 
the mind, 

On which it feeds with ever new delight ; 
The scenes before outshine the scenes behind, 

New treasures roll with time's unceasing 
flight ; 



THOUGHTS. 241 

Each golden moment brings some pleasure 

in it, 
And some new, rapturous thrill is born each 

minute. 

Where is that Cherub, once to me so dear, 
Whose lips first thrill'd me with the name 
of "father?" 
The little rose just oped its petals here, 
And fled to bloom in yonder countr}' 
rather, 
Where all is bright, and change can never 
enter, 
Where all is pure without a spot or stain. 
Where Hope's bright visions in fruition 
centre. 
And where farewells are never said ngain; 
Where Truth's rich feasts th' expanding soul 

invite. 
To taste and feed with ever new delight. 

16 



242 THOUGHTS. 

Keen was the blow b}^ which that tie was 
riven, 
That bound my heart to one so young and 
fair — 
If I should walk the golden streets of 
Heaven, 
! shall I know the little angel there ? 
Will the new bond be that of child and 
father ? 
Will it be stronger than Heaven's common 
tie? 
Will it be sweeter than when meet together, 

Two stranger spirits in the upper sky ? 
When we rove round. Heaven's wondrous 

lore to see. 
Will little Helen sweetly walk with me? 



THOUGHTS. 243 

But ah ! what boots it in so bright a sphere, 
Where ceaseless pleasures thrill the 
throbbing breast, 
If those who were our nearest kindred here, 
Shall in that world be dearer than the 
rest? 
And yet, methinks 'twould be a brighter 
place, 
And joy's sweet flowers would far more 
charming grow. 
If we could look on some sweet, smiling face, 

And know it's ours, as it was ours below, 
And feel the tie, that here on earth was riven, 
More strong and firm, more bright and sweet 
in Heaven. 



BENEFIT OF AFFLICTION. 



And can it be, Almighty Friend, 
That thou dost keen afflictions send, 

To cause our dearest gain ? 
That to enrich thou dost deprive. 
That thou dost kill to make alive. 

And paint earth's pleasures vain ? 

When death in his unstayed career, 

Cuts down our children young and dear 

And fills with keenest pain, 
! is it so, unchanging Friend, 
That keen affliction's grief will end, 

In our immortal gain ? 



BENEFIT OF AFFLICTION. 245 

If SO, my soul, what joys are thine ! 
And all the pains that now are mine, 

Shall be my dearest gain ; 
I'll bow submission to the rod, 
And bless the chastening hand of G-od, 

Though earthly hopes are slain. 

! help me. Saviour, help improve 
The chastenings of thy holy love, 

For thou in love dost reign ; 
! melt this heart and grant it light ; 
My thoughts control, and guide them right. 

All ills must then be gain. 



DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 



Ah ! sweet little daughter, so dear to my 
heart, 
Whom oft to my bosom I've pressed ; 
Earth now is receding and tells I must part 

With her I love sweetest and best. 
To whom shall I leave thee ? that, that is the 
thought 
That covers death deepest in gloom, 
! who will stand by thee and cheer thy 
lone lot. 
When / shall decay in the tomb. 



DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 247 

Ah ! see that young group all contented and 

gay, 

Around the warm fire-lighted room ! 
See, see, how jocosely they circle and play, 

For they know and they feel it is home ; 
Behold them look up for a smile or a kiss 

From the lips of their father and mother, 
They cannot conceal their expressions of 
bliss, 

As they circle around one another. 



But, midst such a circle, thou never can 
be ; 
A parents smile never can warm thee ; 
The lips of a mother can never bless thee. 
Nor home's sweet enchantments can charm 
thee. 



248 DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 

Kind friends may surround thee to cheer and 
to heal, 
And thou may'st be loved by another, 
But midst all their kindness, my orphan will 
feel, 
In sadness, she has not a mother. 



! who, lonely orphan, thy prattle will 
hear ? 
Or run with concern at thy call ? 
Or, when thou art crying, will wipe off tlie 
tear. 
Or kiss off the w^ound from thy fall ? 
! who, in thy flashes of wit wdll delight? 

Or teach thee the practice of duty ? 
Chide gently Avhen wrong, and commend thee 
when right, 
And call thee her bright little beauty ? 



DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 249 

! who will go with thee, and put thee to 

bed, 

And teach thee '*' Our Father in Heaven," 

And pillow down softly thy sweet little head, 

And kiss thee and bid thee '' good even? " 

And who, all impatient, again will rejoice, 

When Aurora the east is adorning. 
And run at the sound of thy sweet little 
voice, 
And kiss thee and bid thee *' good 
morning ?" 



And who then will wash thee, my darling, 
with care, 
And put on thy dress arranged sweetly, 
And teach thee that none can be lovely and 
fair 
Whose person and dress look not neatly ? 



250 DYma mother to her child. 

And who will then take thee and lead by the 
hand, 
In field and in garden to stray ? 
And show thee the buds as they grow and 
expand, 
And tell thee who made them so gay ? 



And when thou art sick who will bend o'er 
thy bed, 
And scan every changing emotion? 
And the sweet balm of sympathy soothingly 
shed, 
With all a kind mother's devotion? 
Conform to each want that the sick often 
feel, 
Though whimsical, reason esteem it ? 
And use every art of endearment to heal, 
And never a burden to deem it ? 



DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 251 

When passing through evils and snares of the 
young, 
Who '11 aid thee and guide thee, lone one ? 
And when fell detraction and malice have 
wrung, 
Who then to the rescue will run ? 
If wrong and injustice should rob and 
oppress, 
Who then will stand up and defend thee ? 
If insult and scorn should assail and distress, 
! who will rise up and befriend thee ? 



But hush, too fond bosom, there's One in the 

sky, 
Who sees every sparrow that lives, 
And hears the young ravens whenever they 

cry. 
And bountifully blesses and gives ; 



252 DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 

He, surely, will watcli a young blossom like 
thee, 

And guide thee, and guard, and defend, 
A treasure more dear than a mother can be, 

A far better portion and friend. 



And yet my heart bleeds, that I lea^e thee 
alone, 
Where perils and ills are abounding. 
Alone, unprotected, and parentless one, 

With the loved and the happy surrounding ; 
Forgive me, Great Sire, for these dark 
brooding fears. 
And these sighs I'm unable to smother, 
These weak, perhaps wicked and criminal 
tears ; 
'T is a 7nother that mourns, 't is a mother. 



DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 253 

Almighty, I leave her, I give her to 
Thee, 
! throw thy protection around her, 
And may the last step in her pilgrimage 
be 
As pure as the primal step found her. 
I ask. Holy Father, that glory nor fame, 

Nor splendor, nor riches be given, 
But that no moral blot may attach to her 
name, 
And ! re-unite us in heaven. 



My sight is decaying — come near to my 

bed — 
This soft little hand — 't is my girFs — 
Let me put my hand over thy smooth, glossy 

head, 
Pretty hair — ah ! the long silken curls — 



254 DYING MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 

It grows dark — I must go — fare thee well, 
fare thee well, 
Little one — orphan girl — He will spare 
thee — 
Let me kiss — hush — hush — hear the notes, 
how they swell — 
Touch her not — 'tis my girl — fare 
thee — — 



TO A STAR. 



What art thou, star, in that blue spangled 
arch ? 
Art only a bright gem to deck the sky, 
A beacon for the planets in their march, 

Or for the comets as they shoot and fly ? 
Or has thy Maker filFd thy disk all over. 
With life, and health, and beauty, and 
delight. 
And made thee in that azure ocean hover, 
Within the circle of our planet's sight, 
A double blessing — a fair peopled sphere. 
And a bright gem to charm our visions 
here ? 



256 TO A STAR. 

Some say tlioii art a sun, a radiant sun, 
Begirt with rays resplendent as our 
own ; 
And thousand peopled planets round thee 
run. 
Obedient to attraction from thy throne, 
And that unnumber'd millions just like thee. 
Are set all round within the spangled arch, 
And worlds uncounted far too dim to see, 

Around each central sun majestic march ; 
And some whose zones might easily surround 
A thousand earths within their circling 
bound. 



And we can only stand and feebly gaze. 
Admire, and wonder, and thy history guess. 

And vision-guided by thy streaming rays, 
We think thee the abode of happiness : 



TO A STAR. 257 

From birth till death, to earth's dim sphere 
confined, 
We mount imagination's airy car, — 
Borne on the pinions of the mighty mind, 

We visit every bright and wandering star ; 
From earth's green shores in eager circuit 

driven. 
We rove around the starry fields of heaven. 

Perhaps when death these brittle bonds shall 
sever, 
That now confine our destiny below, 
We shall rove round from star to star forever, 
Among these azure fields so bright that 
glow ; 
! then, perhaps, from thy bright burnish'd 
sphere, 
We shall throw out our more than eagle 
glance, 

17 



258 TO A STAR. 

And wonder what bright star is twinkling 
here. 
So far beneath ns in the blue expanse ; 
Or heaven-illumin'd may in spirit roam, 
And knov^ the little star our infant liome. 



Ah! when I turn from earth to suns like thee, 
In such bright mazes all above us strewn, 
And from myself to countless throngs that be, 
Thrown o'er the disk of every star and sun, 
And from the whole to Him whose plastic 
power 
Put all this system in harmonious play. 
Whose eve keeps vigil every fleeting hour, 
And guides them errless on their glorious 
way. 
I'm lost in wonder at His matchless power, 
Who guids the planets and who clothes the 
flower. 



TO A STAR, 259 

Meek, meek, and humble should we ever be, 
So less than nothino- in this mass of being, 
Yet feel how God-like and divine are we, 
Far through creation with clear vision 
seeing : 
And thankful, more than words have power 
to show, 
That he whose vision spands the boundless 
whole, 

Whose power upholds those glittering stars 
that glow, 
And all the planets in their onward roll, 
Forms each fine fibre of our web of being. 
With perfect wisdom, power, and love 
agreeing. 



612 



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